


Inter-Office Politics

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Valmont Universe [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Double Life, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Male Slash, Mash-up, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Roughness, Series, Sex, Slash, Strong Female Characters, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first in a four-part series. Alex and his assassin friend, Johanna "Johnny" Valmont, make a bet about who in the X-Files can be corrupted sexually. Intrigue, romance, and sex ensue. This is very much a mash-up of The X-Files and Dangerous Liaisons. The rest of the series is not, but this is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inter-Office Politics

**Author's Note:**

> "She weepeth sore in the night and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her: all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they are become her enemies." -Lamentations 1:2

 

**Alex:**

I'm having a good dream. In this dream, Mulder is wearing that red Speedo, the infamous piece of wet red cloth that will forever haunt my fantasies. He is dripping wet, lying on the bed and batting his eyelashes at me.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" I ask, throwing my jacket over the chair and sitting down. "What do you want?"

"I want you. Hard, fast, cruel, however you'll have me," he whispers. "Alex, don't make me beg."

I smirk at him. "I don't know, Mulder. I think I'd like to hear that," I say, stroking my hand over my cock.

"Alex-- please?"

"Please what, Mulder?"

I am ready to pounce at the next word. But then I feel the hot, wet sensation of someone's tongue in my ear. I twist to see who it is, and there again is Mulder, smiling a lazy smile at me.

"You know what."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I do."

I pull his face to mine for a long, smoldering kiss. Our tongues tangle, but he doesn't taste right. He feels too feminine in my arms. I break the kiss, pull back--

And sitting in my lap is Johnny. Her long, ink black lashes frame the question in her deep, olive green eyes. A smirk sits on her pretty, full-lipped mouth.

"What's wrong, Alex?" she asks, moving closer. I can smell the perfume. Johnny is classy; it's Chanel. She kisses my cheek. "You fell asleep in the chair again, dumbass. And the dream you were having looked like a lot of fun. What was Mulder doing this time?"

"Wearing the red Speedo and begging for it," I reply, pushing Johnny back. "Get off me, Johanna."

"Don't fucking call me that," Johnny replies petulantly. "You're such a pansy ass. I bet that's half the reason your Mulder never fucked you. You want it so bad there's no fun in it at all."

"Ditto, Johnny," I snap. "Bitch."

"In our case, Alex," she says, moving in again and brushing my lips with hers, "The fun is all mine, and so is the pleasure."

"You're a sick, sick woman, Johnny Valmont."

She purrs something incoherent and kisses her way down my neck, biting down a couple of times. Although I've never been that fond of women, or fucking them, Johnny's different. She acts like a man. She turns me on like a man.

She yanks on my shirt, letting me know that I'm either taking it off or she's ripping it off. I lift my arm and she pulls it away, revealing my entire chest to her gaze. She worshipfully and purposefully rests one hand on my pec and the other on my stomach. Her tongue flickers out and wets her lips. Then Johnny begins her slow re-examination of my body.

"I know I've said it before, Alex," she says, running her well- manicured plum fingernails over my nipple, "But you are a Greek god embodied."

She drags her fingernails past my other nipple too hard, making me wince a little. Her other hand remains still, resting on my stomach, warm and stationary. She kisses the place where her nails have left little red indentations, and I kiss the back of her neck, revealed suddenly. In response, she grinds against my lap, letting me know she is fully aware of the erection shifting beneath her firm ass. She pulls back momentarily, and her hands move towards my jeans, resolutely unbuttoning.

"Up," she commands, and I pull up from the chair just a little, enough for her smooth, perfect hands to yank down both jeans and briefs. She swats me lightly on the ass, and as I settle back down, she pulls the jeans all the way off and settles on my lap again. I am completely naked and Johnny is totally clothed. Even with one arm, I could probably physically overpower her, but Johnny is completely in control, master-- or should I say, mistress-- of the situation.

"What about you?" I ask. "You ever gonna get those clothes off?"

She laughs and gestures at the long, velvety robe she wears. "You think there's anything on under this, Alex?"

"Slut."

"At least I acknowledge that," she whispers, opening her legs and wrapping them around my thighs. They are indeed naked, and I'm aching with anticipation. "What is it? I thought you didn't fuck women. Not unless it was in the name of duty."

"Johnny babe, you're no woman."

"I beg to differ," she says, positioning herself over me just right and sliding down. "Does that feel like a man to you?"

"In my case, it certainly does," I say. She snorts and starts moving up and down on my shaft, riding hard and tight. Even though this isn't my thing, my body responds typically, and slowly, I'm pulled along, pressing her torso and her breasts up against me with my one good arm. She yanks back, snaps at me with gleaming white teeth, and starts riding faster and harder.

I know she's getting close, because she's doing the breathing thing again. Johnny has a little fetish about autoerotic asphyxiation. When she's close, she just holds her breath and moves faster and faster, one of her hands reaching down to ensure her own pleasure. If she has to, she takes fast little inhales of air, but I watch her, biting down on her lips, gasping in, getting closer and closer and--

ohmigodohgodohgodshe'sohgodmulder--

She drags me with her, so that my climax is also my shame. Johnny does it for me, down to the sudden sob and scream of her reasserted respiratory functions, down to her throwing her arms around my neck and gasping as she comes down.

"Alex, oh God, oh God," she whimpers. "That was incredible."

"Yeah," I say, trying to summon up images of Mulder in the Speedo, thinking that was what did it. Yeah. Sure, Alex. Believe what you want. Johnny will let you. Unfortunately, I can't do it, and my breathing as we come apart matches hers.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

Alexei Krycek is the first person in my life who understood what I was. He's not like my grandfather, good ol' English Jake who got me into the organization but never put me anywhere useful. Alex knew I'd never be happy shuffling papers for a bunch of toothless old bastards and their Armani-clad kowtowing underlings. I fell in love with him because of that. Now I know better.

After our morning quickie, I dragged his ass into the bathroom and started getting us ready for the day.

"You're never going to get anywhere with those motherfuckers," he informed me as I smoothed shaving cream onto his face. "They don't want women around, except as pussy."

"I don't give a damn what they want. I'm getting what they got," I replied, washing off my hands and pulling out the razor. "I'm more qualified than half the little bastards running around there. Even the old man believed that."

"He turned into a Crispy Critter tipping off Mulder," Krycek said acidly. "He's gone and we don't have any protection in the organization. You're gonna have to play it safe, Johanna."

I hate my name. He knew that. I made sure I nicked him a little with the razor for calling me Johanna. "Safe is going to get some other little shit in charge of us, and we'll be nobody forever," I told him bluntly. "If your dumb ass weren't such a pansy and a cripple, you'd know that."

His eyes glittered furiously. He knew I was pushing his buttons, but his ambition and his loathing for being unable to fulfill that ambition alone made him bitter and angry.

"And if you weren't such a bitch, you'd know you're never going to earn any support, even if you're so much goddamn smarter than the rest of us. Just smile and nod, because you're stuck with money, information, and absolute powerlessness."

"If you backed me up," I repeated, "If you backed me up, we could make a play."

"We could. We'd lose."

"Not if we did it right," I protested, finishing his shave. "You know how NOT to make a play, and we're good together, Alex, you know that."

"The last time I tried this with a woman, it didn't end so well."

"Marita was a walking fucktoy. She didn't have a brain in her head. I'm different," I told him. "We could do it."

"And so what if we did?" he asked sharply. "I still wouldn't have anything. Just an upcoming alien invasion to handle, a woman instead of a man to fuck, and Mulder slipping further and further away."

Damn Mulder! It always came back to him! For too many people in my life, the sun rose and set on one dumbass federal agent and his interest in weird shit. I'd seriously considered killing him, but he was still marginally useful, and you don't waste useful things.

"Oh, screw you," I snapped. "Get your own fucking toothpaste on the brush if I'm so worthless."

I'd showered before I fucked him, and I was still reasonably in order, so I walked out of the bathroom and towards my closet. It was a happy, shiny Tuesday morning, and I had my wonderful job as the Consortium's newest administrative assistant to look forward to. The closet door banged loudly against the wall. Motherfucking no-good life. I had degrees from Bryn Mawr and Yale, money, a nice-looking boyfriend, but it was all bullshit. I was stuck. Trapped. And not pleased about it.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

She leaves me all alone to wash up, the bitch. I've gotten used to her taking care of me, although I managed just fine before Johnny, thankyouverymuch.

I make a mess with the toothpaste, the shower, the gel, and curse her as I go along. Fucking Johnny fucking Valmont, so what if she's somebody? Good ol' English Jake's granddaughter. Big deal. I wish she'd come up with a name like that for the Smoking Man.

But all her pissing and bitching about taking power has to stop. Sure, I want to get myself a place. I want to be a player again. But I don't trust anyone, least of all that twenty-six-year-old piece of fine quality meat. She'd blow my ass away if it suited her. I need to distract her. I need to distract myself. All this obsessing about Mulder is fucking up my game and that's no good.

I realize suddenly that both my problems could be solved the same way. I could get Johnny off my back and Mulder onto hers. I could manage to come out on top, and then make my move while she's distracted.

The idea swirls about in my head as I figure out ways to make it work. It comes to me so naturally, so easily that I wonder if God isn't on the side of Alex Krycek for once. I finish trying to towel off and walk into the bedroom.

"You think about Mulder entirely too much," Johnny says cruelly, curled up on my bed. Her long, glossy, nut-brown hair drapes over her shoulders and face so that only glimpses of her pearl-grey suit are visible. She is barefoot and in nylons, tracing patterns on the bedspread with her fingernails. "It's this sick obsession with you. Your life could be a lot better if you got over it."

"Or if I owned him," I reply. This is perfect. She's set herself up for the play.

"In your dreams, Alex," Johnny sneers. "If you're that fucking hard-up, slip him some date rape drug, why don't you?"

She raises up on one elbow so that I can see her face better, daring me with her olivine eyes.

"I've got a better idea than that, Johanna," I reply. Her eyes narrow.

"What's that, asshole?"

"You seduce him for me," I say. "It's a challenge for you. After all, we all know Mulder is madly in love with that frigid bitch partner of his. He hasn't touched a woman in years. So if you do that--"

"What?" Johnny interrupts. "Him fucking me isn't getting you any closer to fucking him, my dear delusional Alexei."

"Au contraire," I say. "If-- if, if, if-- then you arrange a _m_ _énage à trois_ , and I do get his ass--"

I pause. Johnny's eyes glitter. "Spit it out."

"I'll help you make a power play in the organization. You and me, we'll rule the world," I whisper. She eyes me cautiously. She's definitely got a man's instincts. She thinks with her head. She's ruthless and willing to do anything if she gets what she wants.

"It's an adequate repayment, I suppose," she says thoughtfully. "I get what I want if I overcome your challenge. But I can go you one better."

"Let's hear it, baby," I say. She sits up halfway, tilting her head back so that her sheath of silken hair slides back and totally reveals her perfectly made-up, blemishless face.

"You've challenged me to seduce the man of your dreams, a virtuous, love-stricken man whose dedication to his work and his duties are legendary. But he is, after all, a shameless smut addict. It would be too easy. I have a reputation to maintain, after all," she says.

"You're chickening out."

"No, I'm suggesting a more interesting target. You like to change people, destroy them so that they're willing to do what you want. I'm more interested in swaying them over despite their desires, and despite their morals. I suggest the seduction of a woman famous for her fidelity, her integrity, and her morality."

"Me? Seduce a woman?"

"No, me," she says. "Despite the fact she's straight and madly in love with another man. I'd make her beg for me, despite her love, despite everything that made her a worthy target."

It makes sense suddenly. "Scully?"

"I bag her, you become my second in command and we take over."

"The bitch has ice water running through her veins. And she's straighter than Mulder. You'd be wasting your time; she wouldn't know anything about making it worth your while. Forget it, Johnny."

"If I fail, I'll be your slave."

I look at her, delighted. "In what?"

"In whatever you want."

The more I think about it, the more I like it. If she fails, who cares? But if she were to succeed-- I think about marching into Mulder's apartment and triumphantly showing him video. Showing him his ever-so- perfect Scully begging another woman, another WOMAN to eat her out. If I can't have him, after all, breaking him would be the next best thing.

"I'd need proof."

Johnny rolls her eyes. "Easily arranged."

"Sounds good."

"Do we have a deal?"

"We do," I say, clenching my fist over and over. "You're easily the nastiest woman I've ever done business with, Johnny."

"Thank you for the compliment. I may need a little help with the seductions."

"What?" I ask.

"Not in the actual seductions themselves, moron. I just need you-- or one of your little homies-- to get me into the FBI."

"You know, that particular method didn't work for me, Johnny," I warn her.

"Well I'm not out to break the X-Files-- though that suggests an interesting side project."

"What?"

"You know Spud-Boy, Smoking Man's cocksucking spawn?"

"He has a nice mouth."

Johnny shudders. "Yes, well, I don't like him. Want to discredit him? Get his stupid ass kicked off the X-Files?"

"What's the point? He'll trip himself up sooner or later."

"The spawn is out to create a little family legacy. That would be bad for both of us. Let's nip him in the bud," she says, stretching back quickly and swinging herself out of bed.

"So we eliminate him?"

"We castrate him-- metaphorically speaking. We don't want his pretentious little puss-boy ass in charge now, do we?"

"No," I agree. "All right. We'll get him kicked off the X-Files and have **you**  replace him. Neat work, yes?"

"Brilliant," Johnny replies. "Where the fuck are my eight-hundred-dollar Italian leather pumps? I have to go be an administrative assistant now."

"Aww," I tease, pointing to her shoes. "Who are you working for now?"

"Beavis. You know, Harry Lancaster?" she says, awkwardly putting her shoes on. They're gorgeous, three-inch heels. She's six feet tall in 'em. They make her legs curve nicely. "I swear, Alex, come the revolution, Beavis is gonna get it so far up the ass-- so, what's tricks for you today?"

"Chauffeuring the Seniorville Trolley. This cripple shit really sucks ass."

"Poor baby," she murmurs, kissing me firmly on the cheek. "Don't worry. Soon you'll have Mulder's sweet ass and the world for your very own. You can have the genetic engineers regenerate your arm. As for now, quit your bitching and get to work, okay?"

"Same to you, Johnny."

"Jody. At work, it's Jody."

"Jody's a dumb name."

"Shut up, Alex," she snarls, grabbing her purse and jacket, and heading out the door. "See you when I see you."

She slams the door and I almost cheer. Mulder, Scully, and the world, all for me, all courtesy of Johnny. Things are definitely looking up.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

I wasn't stupid. I knew that Alex Krycek's "challenge" had very little to do with ruling the world and everything with getting me out of his face on the subject. But I had his word, and a slew of new and interesting projects to take care of. It made me feel a lot better.

"Jody, could you make sure that the third station in sector 3B25ZZ send me the reports on subject AXBX by noon?" my boss asked. In other words, Beavis wanted surveillance tape from our station in Boston and he wanted it fast. We might have been secretly ruling the world, but we acted like every other major corporation on earth. Red tape, forms, code words, and stuffed suits were the order of the day. I emailed Doreen, my counterpart in the Boston office, and told her I needed that stuff straight up. She said no problem. Afterwards, I did the usual secretarial errands, and found myself free right after my coffee break to do my own work.

Despite the law degree, I'm *really* an expert at information gathering. I had my fingers flying over the keyboard while Beavis strolled in and out of the office, asking if everything was working out. Yeah. Whatever.

I was busy profiling my targets. One Fox Mulder and one Dana Scully. One of the benefits of working for a completely unethical corporation is that everything is at your fingertips, no questions asked. I decided to start with Scully, because Mulder was not the problem. If I failed with Mulder, I wouldn't become Alex Krycek's slave. So I started with the birthdate-- February 23rd, 1964, making her a Pisces born in the Year of the Dragon. Birthplace: San Diego, California, two older siblings.

From the important but static intellectual data, I delved deeper, pulling up old journals, photographs, family stories, news articles, everything you could possibly imagine and some you couldn't. I felt a little guilty reading reports from 1994 written by one of the nurses taking care of her, but only a little. All's fair in love and war. I was learning my opponent inside out, figuring out her weaknesses.

"Jody, are you coming to lunch?" I heard one of my fellow secretaries ask. It was Angie, yeah, Angie was the blonde with the implants. Beavis liked her a lot, even though she didn't work for him. They were always having 'personal meetings.'

"Yeah, I'm coming," I said, printing out some of Scully's extremely personal poetry, written just after the death of her daughter. It was terribly written, but you could feel the emotion dripping from it, like she'd written it in her own blood. I followed the group of secretaries down the hall to the elevators.

"Do you have a new project?" she asked.

"I'm just amusing myself, Ang," I lied. "God knows I'm not getting enough intellectual stimulation in the office."

One of the other girls-- Pam-- laughed. "As opposed to physical?"

"Who needs these namby-pambies?" I asked, watching the elevator doors slide shut. "You know I'm with one-armed Alex, right?"

"He's queer."

"He doesn't know what the fuck he is," I replied. "He's in love with that FBI boy, Mulder."

"The little weasel whose daddy gives me the creeps?" Angie asked. "He's just plain nasty. You've got to be kidding."

"No, that's Spender. And he wouldn't know how to handle a woman, let alone a man. Mulder is the crazy one who's in love with that redheaded FBI chica."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. She's definitely a babe," said yet another secretary, Eileen. "I would kill to be tiny like that."

"I'm getting in her pants," I said airily. The girls looked at me with horror.

"Why? You got Alex Krycek."

"Why not? I'm not going to be an assistant to the upstairs boys forever. I want a piece of the real action, and that takes a few risky moves."

"You're crazy, Jody," Pam said with approval. "So, what are you up to?"

"Making plays, sleeping around, getting Spender out of the X-Files and me in. The usual petty office bullshit," I replied, watching the elevator doors open on a dreary New York December.

"Getting Spender off the X-Files?" Angie said speculatively. "Do you need any help?"

"What do you want for it?" I asked, as we emerged out into the filtered sunlight. Pam and Eileen lit up their cheap cigarettes.

"A little gratitude."

"Nail it down, Angie."

"My sister's husband beats up on her. He's a prick, but he works for them and she can't do shit. And you being people and all--"

I nodded. "That's fucked-up, Angie. You want him dead or maimed?"

"Well, I'd want him dead, but Francie loves him, so just maimed. Scare his ass, would you?" Angie asked, hailing the cab. "Scare him good."

"Consider it done," I replied. "Krycek thinks I've got my head up my ass with this new game of his."

"Do tell," Pam said as we settled into the cab. "Izzy's on 14th, please."

"He wants to play again, but do you think he'll bring a woman along? Please. He thinks I'll buy into his promises wholesale and he can do what he wants."

"Men. They think just because they think with their balls, so do we," Eileen replied disgustedly. "God, I wish I had your advantages, Jody. I'd rule the world."

"That's what I'm trying to do, Eileen," I said. We shut up for a while, and I read the poetry and got inside Scully's head. It was a lonely place. Everyone she loved was dead or unavailable, and she was used to relying on herself, kind of like me. She wanted to be loved, needed to be loved, but she knew better.

Dear Dana Scully, what I'm not going to do to you, I thought to myself as the New York skyline whizzed by and I wondered, briefly, where Alex was at the moment.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

Getting Jeffrey Spender off the X-Files and Johnny on takes precisely three meals and a few phone calls. I've never understood how women's politics work, but this is an example of why I should learn.

Johnny is friends with the secretarial bimbo squad. At least, I always thought they were bimbos. But Johnny explains to me that most of them are intelligent women who have a depressingly pragmatic view of life and gender equality. Also, they don't have connections like Johnny does, so they do the best they can. So our first dinner is with Angie. Angie is blonde, fake, and fabulous. Johnny brings her home from work, and tells me to call up Wing's Chinese, because we had work to do.

They explain about Angie's sister Francine. Her husband is a guy I used to know, a middle management guy who works at our facility in Houston. His name's Sam and I never did like him. Over drinks, we come up with a way to teach Sam not to hit women ever again.

"It's one thing, what you do, okay?" Angie says on her third shot. "But usually, they send a guy like you out, there's something else going on. Hitting a woman, someone who loves you, that's just shit."

"I never understand why women don't just leave. Well, not in this case, I know. You don't leave a guy who's with them, but usually--"

Johnny shakes her head. "It's not that easy. When you're a woman, there are always weird factors that keep you from being a completely free agent and--"

Anyway, Angie's terms are fairly simple and I make a phone call or two. Then she pulls out her file-- well, actually, it belongs to Beavis, but she has it, it's hers-- and starts pointing out the weak spots in Jeffy's armor. Number one is that EVERYONE hates the little son of a bitch. Number one is about the sum total of hard evidence, though. Spender is a by the book, paint-by-numbers, good American guy. So he works for his dad sometimes. Family loyalty's a good quality, in theory. But the little bastard can't be openly broken, not without jeopardizing our own asses. Angie, though, makes a very good point.

"Even if we don't have anything on him, it doesn't mean we can't manufacture it. And our point is everyone hates him. No one's going to care if we get him accused of blowing up a village of starving children, if we get him."

Johnny grins. The light bulb has gone off in her head.

"Angie, are we still friends with that company, you know, the one out in Vermont that does the special effects?" she asks.

"Oh, you mean Friendly Bob's people? Sure, of course," Angie says.

"Friendly Bob? Don't these people ever have normal names?" I protest.

"Friendly Bob's day job includes running a PBS affiliate in Vermont. And everyone's named Bob, Alex," Johnny explains. "So you have to differentiate somehow. Okay. So what do you think will do it? The usual sex scandal?"

"After Monica the Mandroid? Please," Angie says. "Drugs. I'm sure we've got easily available footage of someone making a purchase. And it's not like we've never drugged the water to get the results we want."

"What sort of drugs?" Johnny asks, intrigued.

"Does it really matter? We send it to his superiors-- the real sort, not like Kersh-- we break it to the media that an FBI agent may be the biggest purchaser of crack on the East Coast, and he's gone. If not fired, at least in rehab."

"Damn, Angie," Johnny says appreciatively. "I love it. I genuinely love it. I'd ask for something that turns him wacky, but we're on a tight schedule. So whatever's easy and on file, we'll do."

We spend the rest of the evening plotting logistics and gossiping. Fuck me twice. I should have learned to type when I was still capable.

I don't get to attend the second meal that seals Jeffrey Spender's fate. It's apparently a private affair between Angie and Friendly Bob that happens three days after our first planning session. At least, that's what Johnny tells me when she gets home late that night, reeking of cigar smoke and wearing her long hair in a ponytail.

"He fell over himself trying to help me and Angie. Angie is his type, you know?" she says, pouring herself a glass of cranberry juice. "So, how's Sammy?"

"He fell out a two-story window."

"Is he dead?"

"Naw, but the asshole won't be hitting his wife any time soon. And from what I heard, he'd apparently been sodomized, too," I tell her with a smirk.

"That's truly awful," Johnny says solemnly. Then she gulps half the glass of juice and pauses. "Motherfucker, Alex, you ate all of my Junior Mints! You son of a bitch, I was SAVING those to eat while I was watching South Park."

Special Agent Jeffrey Tyrone Spender, FBI, is busted in a covert DEA sting six days later. From what I hear-- I didn't see it or anything, I was too busy taking Vincenzo Italian Slims (you know, the fat guy with the bad teeth) to an appointment with his broker. But I hear it was spectacular. It took six agents to restrain him-- at least, that's what it said on the news reports.

I get home and Johnny attacks me at the front door, boom. I've never seen anyone so excited in my whole life.

"We got him," she whispers in between kisses. "It was hysterical. Angie and I-- hold still-- Angie and I-- had to keep a straight face. It was, it was-- oh God, Alex, don't stop doing that-- the most incredible fucking moment!"

But of course, just because Spender is out of a job doesn't exactly mean Johnny is into one. No, that takes a bit more work on our parts. In fact, I actually have to do something for the first time. Johnny doesn't have the same access I do to the top bosses. Hell, I don't even have the same access to the top bosses. I just chauffeur them about the town. But that means they can hear me, as opposed to her. So about two days later, we're sitting in mid-town traffic and I bring up the subject real casually.

"I hear you have a vacancy at the FBI."

"Yes," Italian Slims says. "Agent Spender proved most unsatisfactory."

"You're looking for someone competent this time? Someone who knows what the hell he's doing?"

"Of course," says another one of them, the one with a gravelly voice. "Why? Do you have someone in mind?"

"Well, I have a friend," I say coyly. "Well, not exactly a friend. But her name's Jody Valmont. She'd be perfect."

"Jody--?"

"She works for Harry," I say glibly. "Smart woman. The right age, qualified for the job, doesn't ask too many questions. She mentioned it to me in passing. I just thought you should know."

"She sounds familiar," Italian Slims says slowly. "But this is not the usual procedure."

"Usual procedure never works for the X-Files, sir," I say. "Look at what happened to me. You need something different."

They all nod like living stone statues. I wonder for a second how the hell these old geezers ever managed to stay alive, let alone run the Project. Maybe that's why Mulder and Scully can do so much damage. We've got incompetent people at the top. That'll change soon enough. Wait and see.

"Now this Jody-- Jody Valmont-- do you mean the granddaughter of our recently deceased colleague?" Gravel Voice asks.

"Yeah. Her. I know it's weird, but what the hell. Desperate times call for desperate measures, huh?"

"She doesn't seem like the type. Are you certain?" Italian Slims asks.

"I know it sounds a little strange, but-- Jody's got the brains for the job, and she's loyal. I mean, she's a little ambitious, like all of us," I say conspiratorially. "But Jody, she wants what we want. I really think she's perfect for the assignment. I mean, better than Spender."

They nod slowly. It's working. I've got their interest, and I'm pretty sure Johnny will be getting a call very soon.

She comes home from work two days later with a grin on her pretty little face.

"Whatever you told the boys upstairs worked," she says, putting her purse down.

"What, did they offer you the job?"

"Sort of. Beavis called me in and talked about it. I told him that I was always interested in helping with the Project. In fact, what I told him-- you know his real name's Harry, and I forgot and I almost called him Beavis-- was really good. I couldn't believe I did such a convincing job. Of course, telling him I was just in it to fuck a couple of people and then take over the world would be suicide, so I played up the innocent girl thing."

"Think he bought it?"

"We shall see. Let's go out for dinner. Out to Lou's, okay?"

Our third dinner is in Manhattan, at a sub place Johnny and I go to sometimes. Johnny always orders this incredibly disgusting Italian sandwich, muffuletta. It's a New Orleans thing, olive salad over mozzarella and ham and mortadella, Johnny explained to me once. She and her mother spent a year down there, and Johnny picked up a taste for the sandwiches. I just have a ham and swiss on rye bread.

"I hope that whatever I said to Beavis did the trick," Johnny worries aloud. "Sometimes I'm afraid he knows I'm up to something, you know? But I acted like a team player. And I've never done anything to him. I'm not stupid."

"Not for a woman, anyway," I reply smugly. She punches me in the shoulder. "Hey, don't do that!"

"Asshole," Johnny replies lovingly. "You sure you don't want a bite?"

"No. I eat things I'll keep down, thank you very much."

"You're such a philistine," she replies, but before she can insult me any more, her cell phone rings. She answers naturally and starts the half-intelligible gab of a phone call.

"Mmm-hmm, yeah, this is me, yeah, I meant it. Of course I'm still interested-- when? Tomorrow? Really? I mean, sure I can make it-- where am I? Virginia, a suburb in Virginia. I'm thrilled! This is just great news! Yeah-- yeah-- who do I report to? Mmm-hmm? And what time? Of course! Not a problem. No, sir, not at all. I'll see you soon. Yeah, yeah-- bye, now."

Johnny squeals as she ends the call. Then she gives me a kiss. "Wish me luck. I'm supposed to report to Agent Diana Fowley at 8:30 AM sharp tomorrow morning."

"Good luck. You're gonna need it," I said. "Just remember, Johnny, you're not there to chase ghosts and watch for UFOs."

She grins. "No, I'm chasing something much more elusive."

And of course, just like Johnny, she doesn't bother to say what she's chasing.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

The first anything is an exaggeration. First day, firstborn, first night, whatever. Firsts tend to be tentative, experimental, and messy. So much so that I'd never bother talking about my first day at the FBI, but it was important.

I reached the basement office at 8:27 AM sharp. Diana Fowley was waiting, and she was an unknown factor in my seduction scenario. If she dragged me to Bumfuck, North Dakota on a weekly basis, the entire plan would take forever.

So I entered quietly, noticing a woman a little younger than my mother drinking coffee and reading my faked FBI dossier. Well, not that faked. My degrees were right, my past job experience was right-- except the FBI Academy graduation and field work dating from six months ago. But hell, everyone pads their resume.

"Agent Fowley? Hi. Johanna Valmont--"

"Sit down, Agent Valmont."

I sat and watched her carefully. She was a fairly attractive woman, but her eyes were cold and unfriendly and glaring at me.

"Why are you here, Agent Valmont?" she asked. "And be honest. I don't really care as long as you stay the hell out of my way."

I surveyed the woman, considered the situation, and decided honesty would be the best policy in this case.

"I'm working for Smoking Man and his cronies. Supposedly. Really, I have my own project, and this is a good position for me."

"Are you going to need the X-Files? For bait?" she asked.

"Well, sort of. To establish trust with certain people," I answered.

"You're not trying to shut them down, are you?"

"No. I don't really care one way or another, Agent Fowley," I said. "So, if I want to share a little information with these certain people, then--?"

"Keep Fox out of the office proper. That's FBI rules now. And don't touch the files I tell you not to touch, do you understand?"

"Yes," I answered. Her eyes warmed up some.

"Thank God you're not a weasel like Spender. God, I was ready to strangle him. Do you want some coffee?"

I nodded. "I feel so Melanie Griffith-Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl."

She snorted. "Just keep Harrison Ford's distinctive nose out of my work and he's all yours, Melanie," Fowley replied. "So, will you want to stay in town?"

"Huh?" I asked, truly confused.

"Well, I assume your business is mostly in DC. I'll do my best to keep you here. If you want."

"Rock on," I said gratefully. "I promise to cover us both. AD Skinner will be singing our praises."

She looked at me curiously. "What are you looking for?"

"Sex, adventure, and global power," I said. "The usual."

She shook her head. "And you're the next generation. Oh, well, by the time you people fuck things up irrevocably, I'll be dead."

After Fowley and I set the ground rules for our partnership, I decided to go hunt out Mulder and Scully. Casually, nothing too overt. Certainly not, hi, I'm Johanna. I work for the X-Files now and I want to be your best buddy in the whole wide world! That doesn't even work on television. So, ironically, I literally ran into Scully. I came around a corner too fast, carrying a folder of papers to run off, and BOOM! Papers go flying everywhere and I lose my balance and fall flat on my ass.

"Ouch! God damn it, watch where you're--"

I stopped, and I stared straight up into the face of my greatest challenge. She was holding out her hand to help me up. I took that as a good omen.

"Sorry," I muttered as I lifted myself up. "I'm sort of a pushy walker. It's a New York thing."

"No problem," she said. I had heard her voice before, but live, it had a certain resonance and strength that it didn't have on tape. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"First day," I apologized. "Hi. Special Agent Johanna Valmont."

"Hi. Special Agent Dana Scully," she said, shaking my hand. "Looks like you had some work to do."

"Just making copies. My partner and I have a new case and I'm triplicating all the forms. You know how that is," I said. I started to pick up the papers. She helped, and when she saw that it was an X-File, an odd expression crossed her face.

"You're with the X-Files?"

"Yeah," I said shyly. "They're sort of wacko. Really interesting, though. So, do you know anything about them?"

"I used to work down there," she replied shortly.

"Really? For how long?"

"Five years," she said.

"Five years! That's a long time. I bet you know everything about them," I said. I'd learned how to suck up in high school. It was probably the most useful skill I'd learned there. "Hey. Do you ever consult about this stuff?"

"I'm actually not allowed to--"

"Not allowed? What are our bosses, stupid? Hello, here we have the experts, and they're banned from their field of expertise? The government makes no sense."

"Interesting sentiment from a government agent," someone behind me said. I turned around. It was definitely my day; it was Fox Mulder. "I didn't catch your name, but you're the new agent on the X-Files, right?"

I smiled. Score one for Johnny. "Special Agent Johanna Valmont."

"Nice to meet you. Mulder," he said, shaking my hand. "So. You're working with Diana. How do you like it?"

"As first days go, it's not so bad," I said calmly. "I mean, the cases look to be fairly interesting, and Diana and I mesh well. She makes good coffee."

"Yes, she does," Mulder agreed. "So, Valmont. You're pretty new to the FBI?"

"Six months. Pretty new. Um, I think I have to get these copied," I said, trying to look harried and busy. "But it's nice meeting you, Mulder, and Scully, right? We should talk again. Okay?"

"Sure," Mulder said. I broke away from my prey and skittered down the hall, hiding my grin. I'd forgotten that first impressions, no matter how stupid, are usually kept. So in their heads, I was now a pretty, slightly clumsy, slightly pushy young agent who had a little sense and a loud voice. That worked just fine for me.

As for the rest of the day, I made copies, faxed requests, talked to a really stupid sheriff from Kansas who was bitching because of cattle mutilations and wanted to know if it was UFOs, asked Diana about some paranormal stuff, and, oh yes. I did see Mulder and Scully again. I was walking back to my brand new 1994 Ford Taurus, in the groovy shade of tan, when I saw Mulder and Scully walking through the parking lot. I followed them, of course.

"I think she could help us out. She seems to want our help," Mulder was telling Scully.

"We'll get fired."

"I think we'd be able to trust her! She said something to you about consulting, didn't she? Come on, Scully, opportunities like this don't come up every day!"

"Mulder, how do we know we can trust her? I think that we have to be careful."

"Scully, I'm going by gut instinct here, I admit it. And we will be careful. But who's it going to hurt if we help the Valmont kid out on a few minor cases, catch a few teenagers messing with cattle?" Mulder wheedled.

Scully stalked a few steps, and stopped. "All right. We'll see if she's serious about consulting. But Mulder, I'm serious. Cautiously."

"Of course, Scully. I don't trust just anyone," Mulder replied. I resisted the urge to cheer and hurried back to my car. The game was definitely afoot, and the advantage was to Valmont.

* * *

 

**Diana:**

New girl is definitely looking for something. I don't know what, exactly, but she's watching just a little too closely. She waits just a little too patiently. She's a predator, a profiler, a stalker. She breathes, watches, and moves too silently. I don't like her, but I'm not the one she's chasing. So we get along okay.

Fox took to Valmont immediately. Of course, she arranged that, and very well, might I add. _Oh, what do you think about this, Agent Mulder? This reminds you of another case? Tell me about it! I don't understand why they reassigned you, Mulder, except you're a fucking psycho._ She asked for his help, took it under advisement, and always acted grateful, whether she agreed or not. Fox bought it hook, line, and sinker. For some reason, a pretty woman turns his mind off. Well, okay, not just some reason. But wouldn't you be suspicious of someone so nice to you, no matter how much you wanted to fuck her? Especially as he'll never actually try anything. But tall, dark, and dangerous has ever been Fox's type. And he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed.

"Morning, Sigourney," Valmont calls like she does every morning. Valmont loves nicknames. Skinner is the Surly One; his secretary is Kimbo, et cetera, et cetera. She pours herself coffee and hands me a few files. If nothing else, Johnny is efficient and she does know how to cover ass.

"We have to go to Pennsylvania tomorrow," I tell her.

"That's okay, nothing planned. Whaddup?" she asks, her peculiar green eyes flickering over the latest news.

"The residents of Keskuwanna County have reported a werewolf, and a little boy was mauled last night," I reply.

"You don't sound surprised."

"Keskuwanna County is a werewolf breeding ground. About once a generation it gets out of control."

She regards me placidly. "Sometimes I think the paranormal doesn't exist for the unbeliever," she says. "You know? I mean, I don't know. When I was a little girl, my dad died, and two years later, my mom saw him in a dream. He told her that if we didn't leave New York right away, something bad was going to happen. My mom moved us to her mother's in Virginia. Three weeks afterwards, the apartment where we'd lived burnt down."

"And you don't believe it?"

"I think that the paranormal exists for who it needs to exist," she replies wistfully. "It never has for me. No matter how many times I've clapped my hands, Tinkerbell has never come back."

"In my experience, I call it the Dana Scully syndrome."

She grins. For some reason, Valmont is obsessed with befriending Dana Scully. She wants to be good friends with her. I don't know why, just as I don't understand what she wants with Fox, except for maybe a good fuck. I should tell her she's going to be disappointed. I mean, Fox enjoys sex, but he rarely initiates, and he has **no**  imagination. But Valmont was different with Scully. The bubbly new agent schtick doesn't impress Scully. So Valmont switched tactics. She spent a lot of time getting inside the woman's head, slowly but surely gaining Scully's trust.

I listened in one day, the day I think new girl hooked Scully as a friend. She was telling stories over yogurt in the FBI cafeteria. Scully just had hers plain with pollen. Valmont had hers with a huge lunch. New girl eats, but keeps her Mae West figure. The young have it easy.

"So it was just me and my mom, and we were living in a bad part of LA, because we were fucking broke. It was very tough there, so I toughed up. I learned how to defend myself, because Mom-- well, Mom has her own issues. She kept telling me how one day we'd live in a big Malibu house and have a Mercedes and eat out every meal. It never did happen."

"It must have been hard."

"You learn to deal, don't you? I mean, somehow you learn to deal. I bet your life hasn't been all wine and roses," Valmont says. "But you don't ask for sympathy. I respect that."

Scully nodded. I watched her eyes. She couldn't help it. Valmont was pushing her buttons, she had her number. Whatever. They had rapport, and that foot in the door was all new girl needed.

"Dana Scully syndrome?" Valmont laughs, breaking me from my reverie. "I wish I could catch it. It's so hard to make friends with that woman!"

"But she likes you," I object. She looks at me, and those unworried, predator eyes are suddenly focused on me with full intensity. She feigns a smile.

"Do you really think so, Di?" she asks in a voice so soft and so harmless I shiver.

"Well, I overheard you in the cafeteria one day. You're her type, I think," I reply, trying to defend myself. "I mean, it just looked that way to me. Why do you want to be her friend so much?"

"Friends are nice," she replies. "So-- Pennsylvania tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say. "Hey, Valmont? When you were a kid, what was your favorite monster?"

"I didn't like monsters. I liked owls. When owls swoop in for a kill, they're absolutely silent. I always thought that was so neat."

My God, I think I'm afraid of her. But then she stands up and gets another cup of coffee, and I realize I'm not the one who has to be afraid.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

I run into the little weasel Spender while I'm busily taking Vincenzo and the Pussycats around New York. He looks like hell. Johnny will be delighted. He looks bewildered, unshaven, and desperate, and I give him a nasty grin as he shambles up.

"What do you know about what happened?" he asks.

"Nothing, man," I reply.

"I hear you and Johanna have a thing going on. Are you sure you don't know anything?"

I shrug. "Johnny and I are pleasure, not business. She takes care of herself. And I wouldn't be so quick to place the blame on her, though I'm sorry her success is your failure."

He glares at me. "It's a pity **you**  ruined your chances through the FBI. I've heard it's a useful springboard to power."

"I think you've heard wrong, Jeff. I've never seen that. Maybe whoever fucked you over did you a favor?"

I supposed we'd chat a little more, but Italian Slims finishes his errand with his broker or his proctologist or whatever and saunters toward the car. I'll have to be off.

"You, too, right?" Spender asks bitterly, walking off.

I don't answer back, just get in the car and head on down the New York streets. When I get done with work, I decide to go on down to DC and see what Johnny's been up to. I haven't seen her in about a month, and it's not the same listening to her mocking, sultry voice over the phone. We also need to discuss how her plans are going, and besides, Spender on the skids will make her laugh.

So I get there, grab a car, and head for the butt-ass nowhere Virginia suburbs. When I finally reach Johnny's apartment, I'm impressed. It's a modest, demure sort of place. She's good, showing that she's clearly living on an FBI budget. I have to admire that. I never could. Then I let myself into her apartment and shudder. The decor is just so precious. Laura Ashley and Martha Stewart? Cabbage roses and Navajo white semigloss paint? I swear to God, if I find a crocheted toilet paper cover, I'll throw up. Quick check. No. Thank God. I find a plain grey fleece blanket in the linen closet and settle down on the couch. I pass out cold and I don't dream for once. But the snerk of the key in the lock wakes me up and I spring off the couch and out of sight, just in case Johnny's brought home a guest.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" she calls to the room. "And an ugly-ass home it is, too--"

I take this as a sign she doesn't have anyone with her. "It's truly hideous," I agree, popping out from my hiding spot. She doesn't scream, but she does jump.

"Mother--flipping-- Alex!" she rasps, holding on to her bags of groceries. "Take a bag."

She hands me two plastic bags and I follow her into the kitchen.

"How do you stand this?"

"Necessity. So, what brings you down here, my one and only?"

"I needed a good shave," I lie.

"Is that all?"

"It's been a little too long," I growl. She laughs and puts away her groceries, very domestic-like. "So how's the FBI, Agent Valmont?"

"Fun. Di Fowley and I have come to an understanding. I day trip to a few places-- usually obvious hoaxes-- but there have been two or three cases that I've needed my friends for. They're a fantastic consulting staff."

"And how are you progressing in your little project?"

"Well, my dearest darling rat bastard, I think I'm about ready to seduce Mr. Mulder."

"So soon?"

"So soon?" Johnny echoes. "It seems late to me. But yeah. Mulder likes the package and he kind of trusts me. Besides, I leak him information when I can."

"What's the deal about that?"

"He slept with Diana, you know. I'm his type. He'll think he's weak, but that won't stop him if I throw myself at him."

"Look who's so sure of herself!" I marvel.

"Yeah, I'm confident," Johnny agrees. "But he's alone and I'm available."

"So are a million other women."

She snorts. "I won't argue with you, Alex," she replies snippily. "I'm making carne asada tonight. DC sucks for Mexican, but I did my best."

"Are you inviting me to dinner, Johnny?"

"Is there anyone else here?"

Then someone knocks, of course. Johnny shoos me into her bedroom, and I scramble frantically. I leave the door ajar, though, because there's no fucking way I'm not going to listen in on them.

"Hey, Mulder," I hear Johnny drawl. "How's it going?"

"Shitty," is the brief reply. "Did I mention I hate AD Kersh?"

"On occasion."

"We've drawn the prime assignment of interviewing prospective employees for the Library of Congress. I've complained to Scully it's a high-risk job. One day, I'll be so bored that I'll shove a pencil up my nose and commit suicide."

I stifle a laugh. Someone at the Bureau has a really nasty sense of humor.

"Ugh. I'm sorry. You want dinner? I'm making carne asada."

My stomach growls. Fucking Mulder, he's getting my dinner and my evening with Johnny. Mulder says something I can't hear and Johnny laughs.

"No, dumbass, it's beef. They're delicious. I learned to make them in LA. My mom and I lived there forever, ese. I appreciate the finer points of tortillas and Mexican food that ain't Taco Hell. You want a beer?"

"Sure. So, Valmont--"

"Johanna."

"Please."

"Johnny, then. But I don't use Valmont after hours," she says. "So, Mulder, what's up? You're not here for food. Bored?"

"I don't know," Mulder answers. "Have you ever felt guilty about just being who you are?"

"No. Why, what's so hard about being you? I mean, besides the fact your job is shit."

"No, it's being me. I mean, I--"

The scent of cooking meat overlays their conversation and my mouth starts to water. I move closer to the door, trying to see what the hell is going on.

"Ever consider sensitivity training?" Johnny teases.

"Are you kidding?" Mulder answers. Johnny grins and strolls up to him, right into his personal space, tempting him. "What?"

She smiles at him. "Nothing. I need to get plates," she says, brushing past him and opening the cabinet. "I think a girlfriend would do wonders for your demeanor. She'd keep you in line."

"I've got Scully for that."

A rattle of crockery. "I guess, but there are certain realms y'all leave alone, right?" she asks, going back to the sizzling meat. "You keep the bedroom out of the office, you know what I mean?"

"I'd keep the office out of the bedroom, too," Mulder says. "Do you need any help?"

"Not really."

She finishes cooking and they dig in. I sulk. But watching Mulder wrap his mouth around a burrito and whimper with pleasure certainly helps my mood. He's not as delicate about eating as Johnny, who keeps looking in my direction quickly, as though I was going to ruin our cover or something. I swear to God, sometimes she's a little too jumpy. So, over Mulder's I think sixth taco, Johnny starts talking again.

"You ever been in love, Mulder?" she asks, punctuating her question with a gulp of beer.

"Sure. Everyone has."

"I don't think I've been in love. Really. I mean, there's something about that phrase, you know. It's mystical. I mean, I've loved people, and I've lusted after people I loved, but it's not like being in love, you know?" Johnny replies. "It's one of those phrases, like the truth. I mean, what the hell is The Truth? What does it mean to you?"

Mulder's quiet. Real quiet. "The truth. It's everything, you know? The answers. But it's more than that, too. It's something that can't be denied, it'll set things right--"

"My mom said that about God once," Johnny replies. "And someone else told me that there's nothing like that, and that we make things up because we're afraid that there may be nothing, so we have to-- I don't know. Compensate. Make up meanings."

"Well," Mulder says. "This is a suddenly depressing conversation."

"I'm sorry," Johnny says. She looks at her watch. "Oh shit. It's-- you gotta go. I'm sorry."

"What? Did I do something? What's wrong?" Mulder says, confused.

"Nothing. I have something to do tonight. As nice as your company's been, this is urgent. I forgot."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"S'okay, forget it. So. If I need your help with the mutant kid with the weird disease, call, right?"

Mulder bobs his head up and down vigorously. He gets up awkwardly. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah," she says, moving in deftly and kissing him on the cheek. "See ya."

He leaves, and Johnny throws open her bedroom door. "I bet you're hungry," she says, grinning.

"Watching you mindfuck Mulder over my dinner has worked up quite a few appetites," I reply, roughly pulling her against me. "Is there any reason you threw him out so quickly?"

"I figured fucking him on the couch with you around would be impolite. And we were headed that way. Do you want something to eat?" Johnny asks, rubbing up against me.

"Later. God damn, you're so sure of yourself!"

She kisses me hard, dragging her teeth across my lip and her nails across the back of my neck.

"Fuck yeah," she whispers, letting me go. "I get what I want. Always."

And afterwards, my arm thrown across her waist, I realize it's true.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

Wednesdays are my good-luck day. I was born on a Wednesday. I started college on a Wednesday. Good news always comes-- well, you get the point. I seduced Mulder on a Wednesday without even meaning to. It's good luck.

After our interrupted Mexican binge, I started brooding about how exactly I was going to woo the wild Mulder into my bed. After all, that wasn't my ultimate goal, just a stop along the way. I had to convince him to sleep with Krycek. That was going to be worse than Paul convincing Agrippa-- and Paul failed.

In fact, I can't actually claim my own success in seducing Mulder. Circumstances turned to my advantage and I put them to use. Mulder had managed to piss off Kersh yet again. But he also managed to piss off Scully in the process. Basically, what happened was Prince George County Sheriff was using a psychic to help search for a missing child, and dumb fuck Mulder went to check it out. She was a fake, but the department complained to the FBI and Mulder got himself a week's suspension. Scully was furious because he handled it so poorly, so the dummy found himself alone, friendless, and broke in Alexandria.

Johnny to the rescue!

I came bearing food. Submarine sandwiches, chips, and beer, to be precise. This alone guaranteed me entry into Mulder's musty apartment. He eyed dinner like a starving man, but his eyes found their way back around to me, too. I was dressed for work-- and not the FBI. I was in black leggings and a loose blue top, v-neck. And the top button had a bad habit of coming undone.

Did I mention I wore a Wonderbra? Well, it certainly never hurts.

"I heard," I explained apologetically. "Sucks for you."

"Yeah."

"I brought a movie, too. How do you feel about Bull Durham?"

"It has Kevin Costner in it. No, thank you."

"Good, because I brought Spaceballs."

He laughed. "A woman who brings food and has excellent taste in film. I think I'm in love."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but I only have eyes for Brad Pitt."

It was very friendly on the couch, watching Lone Star and Princess Vespa cavort in the giant Winnebago. We laughed, we talked, we ate sandwiches. Mulder, like Alex, could not understand the appeal of muffuletta. The point is, by the time Yogurt told Lone Star about his true heritage, Mulder was comfortable and I was ready.

"It's getting late," Mulder said after the last run of credits.

"I'm okay. What, you got a hot date?"

"Not really. I mean, no."

"Do you ever?"

"Ever what?"

"Date. Engage in human mating rituals. Or social rituals. Or any rituals?"

"No. I'm anti-ritual."

I grinned. "Ah, you're a conscientious objector to the dominant ideology? Defying cultural authority? Walking on the wild side?"

"Yeah, you know me, I'm so wild, all by myself."

I kicked off my shoes and leaned back against the couch. "You could fix that. Quite a few women around the Bureau covet your ass, Mulder."

"Including you?"

"I've seen finer asses than yours," I replied. "So, I was just saying you don't have to be alone if you don't want to be."

"I'm not alone right now."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Would you like me to?"

"I don't know. Could I get a preview?"

Mulder stood up and walked two steps to where I was sitting. I stretched up and he bent down, and in a heartbeat, our lips met, and I aggressively pulled his lips around mine as his tongue ran against the smooth ivory of my teeth and into my mouth. He had a vague flavor of pretzels and beer and I realized my pulse had sped up.

We stopped, and our eyes met. I put a finger on his lips and nodded. He opened his mouth and began sucking hard. Finally, I pulled back and popped open my top. Mulder's eyes were saucer-sized, and I stood up then, and pushed him down on the couch.

"Lose the top," I growled. He hurried to oblige, and then I straddled him and shoved him back with one hand. Then I bent down and decided to become well-acquainted with his neck and right shoulder. While I was busy exploring, Mulder's arms surrounded me and awkwardly removed my bra. He pulled me back upwards, staring at my breasts with reverent lust.

"Take a picture," I whispered as his hand tentatively enclosed breast and began to tease. "It'll last longer."

Mulder responded by pushing me back against the couch and wrapping his mouth around my other breast. All of the myths about Mulder being oral were promptly proven true. I let him have his way with my breasts as I dragged my fingernails across his back, slowly but surely adding pressure until red welts stood out against his skin. Then I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up for a long, voluptuous kiss. He fell back against the couch, which was exactly what I wanted. I looked at him and then silently, I opened the top button of his fly. Mulder finally made a noise; he groaned as I continued unbuttoning.

"Up," I ordered when I finished with the buttons. He shifted his hips, staring at me with fascination. I pulled off his pants and boxers, leaving him naked and vulnerable. His eyes were fixed on me-- specifically on my hands. I smiled, and dragged one rounded nail across his erection lightly. A tickle, really. He shuddered, and violently bucked upwards.

"Did I hurt you earlier?" I asked. "Poor Mulder. If you'd told me to stop, I would have."

He almost spoke then, but I laid a finger against his lips and shook my head. "Don't worry. I'll make it up to you now."

He moaned pitifully as I drew back and inclined my head. I almost felt sorry for him as I took him in. How often do men realize that women can be just as dominating and cruel as they when they need to be? I moved slowly at first, very much in control. Heavy on technique, light on actual passion, and yet producing the desired effect. He started to whimper, clawing at his thighs. He wouldn't touch me at first, whether out of chivalry or hatred, I don't know. But when it became apparent I would keep up my professional pace all night, one of his hands twined into my hair and pushed. I retaliated by sucking harder, whipping my tongue across the underside of him with abandon. He shrieked, an honest to God squeal almost, and his grip slackened. I didn't slow down, keeping up the frantic pace and abandon. His free hand balled up into a fist and pounded into his thigh faster and faster. A stream of incoherent words fell from his lips as I sped up just a little more and he came. It's not my favorite thing, either, but I swallowed, and rose to meet his eyes.

He looked pale and frightened, drenched in sweat and panting. "If you ever do that again, I'll spit in your face," I warned. "Did you enjoy that?"

He nodded. I smiled.

"Good boy," I said. "Guess what. We're going to do it again."

"What?" he asked, finally finding a voice. I found my wallet and pulled out a condom.

"I need to get off, too, Mulder. It's not fair if I don't enjoy myself, now, is it?"

"No, of course not."

I tossed the condom on the coffee table, and watched him speculatively. Then I stood up and got rid of my remaining clothes. "I realize it may take you a while to recover. So I'll make this easy for you. Do you have a bed, or just the couch?"

"There's a bed-- a waterbed-- but--"

"It'll do. Show me the way."

I followed him into the bedroom, retrieving the condom for later. I was on the Pill, but I was about to stop being monogamous and I was always a proponent of safer sex. Better late than never, I sighed. I walked into Mulder's inner sanctum, surveyed it, and sat on the chair near the bed. Then I let my legs fall open. He looked bewildered.

"We have to be fair. And turnabout is fair play," I chided him playfully.

He nodded mechanically. Goddamn men. They come, they want to sleep. But he got down on his knees and placed his arms on my thighs.

"Scoot forward," he said. I did. He looked up at me with almost laughter in his eyes. "Open up, ma'am. I'm FBI and I have a warrant to search the premises."

"Go ahead," I replied, spreading further, as his eyes dropped down. I started squirming. "But I don't think you'll find anything amiss."

He brought his lips against my stomach as one probing finger pushed inside. I gripped the chair tightly and started writhing as Mulder started lapping my stomach and his finger explored my body. I had already been wet, but it had been ages since a man had gone down on me. Alex had categorically refused.

"Oh God," I gasped. "More. Harder. Please."

He pulled back and drove a second finger inside. I hissed. "Oh, fuck, yes, that's it." I felt him chuckle against my stomach and I shivered. Then he nipped at the skin right above my hip and I screeched. Then his fingers started moving faster and harder, building friction. I took a deep breath. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled his fingers away.

He didn't leave me alone, though. I felt his mouth encircle me and the lightest scratch-- a tickle, really-- across my clit. Then he was back to work, driving me headlong over the edge. I tried not to stop breathing, but I really couldn't help it. I was helpless, breathless, and writhing in delight. I came hard, spasming and gasping as though I'd been drowning. Finally, I got my breathing under control and stared at him.

"I'd never figured you for a gasper," he says. "Does it work?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm always going when I'm coming," I said. "It's a lot better."

I noticed that Mulder was back in fighting form, so to speak, and he looked at me anxiously.

"I've recovered."

"I see. Do you get seasick?"

"Not on waterbeds."

"Well, if you do-- I promise not to tell."

"Ditto."

He smiled at me, a genuine smile. We'd just sealed the bargain, and I had every intention of keeping it. I rose languidly, and pointed at the bed.

"Ladies first," Mulder replied.

"Only in fiction," I snapped. "Come on. Had we but world enough, and time-- but we don't."

He laughed, and we went to bed. But not to sleep.

* * *

 

**Mulder:**

I wake up at about three in the morning, sore and confused. Something has just happened, but I'm not quite sure what--

Woman. There's a woman in my bed, and she's tall, with dark hair that disguises her identity. Think, Mulder, think. Who could she be? And then I remember Valmont and close my eyes again.

Oh, fuck me twice.

Wait, she DID.

Oh-- whatever. But this isn't good at all. First of all, she's just a little bit too young for me. Twenty-six, I guess, is plenty old enough, but still. She seems younger, at least in appearance, and in demeanor before tonight.

The scratches on my back hurt like hell. I creep out of bed, hopefully not waking her up. I sneak into the bathroom, close the door and flip on the lights.

"Good morning, stupid," I tell myself, wincing at the light. I try to examine my back. I haven't been this marked during sex since Phoebe, and even Phoebe wasn't quite so fond of hurting me. Johnny had been so subtle and unrepentant about it, too. But she did make up for it.

God. How am I ever going to explain this to Scully? _Oh, yeah, I fucked the new girl. Just because. She's one of the hottest lovers I've ever had in my life. If you were game, I'd suggest giving her a try._ Oh, God, I can't say a fucking word to Scully. She'd strangle me, despite the fact we're not actually lovers. It's the principle of the thing.

The principle of the thing. Yeah, Scully and I are so principled that we're constantly sitting, staring at each other like dinner and stuck in neutral, because partners do not fuck. That would ruin our platonic paradise.

I check out the scratches over my shoulder. Shit. These better not get infected.

"Eww," Johnny says, walking in suddenly. "Those look awful. Do you have any Bactine?"

"Bactine does not fit under my list of sex aids."

She almost laughs. "No. I was going to put some on your back so that those nasty scratches don't get infected. I'm not that kinky, nor am I currently horny," she replied sardonically.

I blink at her and pull out a bottle of aloe vera disinfectant. She takes it and pulls me back into the bedroom, and sits back down on the chair.

"Sit," she says, pointing to the floor in front of her. "You're too tall."

"Imagine being Scully."

"I have. She has my deepest sympathies," Johnny says as she squirts out some of the blue gel and delicately rubs it into my back. I shiver. That stuff is cold.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah. I'm a light sleeper, though, it's okay," she replies. "So, what have you decided?"

"This never happens again."

"And why not?"

I pause. "It was wrong. I barely know you, and I don't love you and--"

"If Scully found out, she'd be upset?" she says, rubbing more gel in. "Did I mention I have no intention of sharing this information with her?"

I snort. "So what do you want to do?"

"Have an affair. Break it off when it's no longer good. I don't love you either."

"Meaningless sex?"

"God, leave it to me to find the one man on earth turned off by meaningless sex," Johnny sighs. "Maybe. I mean, I like you, Mulder, and I'd like to be friends, and we are friends but--"

She lays her head against my shoulder. "I wouldn't mind doing this again."

This is a sweetheart deal. Am I really going to say no? Yes. I can't do this, it's just not my style, it's not my way--

"I don't know, Johnny," I stammer. "I don't know if I can be so casual about sex."

"Well, think about it. Really," Johnny says lightly. "Mulder, you do know you're not cheating if you're not dating, right?"

"This is not because of Scully!"

"Isn't it?" she asks, massaging my shoulders lightly. "You've got it baaad for that woman. And yet, you've never kissed her. Not even at office Christmas parties where you've had an excuse."

I squirm. "It's hard to explain."

"What's hard to explain? You're a freak," she says, getting up and walking away. "It's up to you. Give me a call if you're so inclined."

With that she leaves the room and begins searching out her missing clothes. I sit there, confused. I suddenly want to do this. I suddenly feel stupid for giving up an opportunity like this. I stand up, and hurry into the living room. She's pulled her shirt around her loosely.

"What if I give you a call now?"

"I have to go home now. I have work in the morning, unlike dumbasses like you," she says, patting me on the cheek. "But I'm more than happy to be the horizon you run to when she has left you."

She yanks on the leggings and slips on her ballet flat shoes. I look at her wordlessly.

"It's three am, Mulder. Don't you ever sleep?" she asks.

"Not when I can avoid it," I reply. She laughs.

"You know what you're doing, so don't even--" and she pauses. "Go to bed, Mulder. I mean it. You need to sleep once in a while."

"Who are you, my mother?"

"Good night," she says, opening the door and leaving. I stand there, dumbfounded. I think I've just been ditched.

I fall asleep again at four on the couch. And that's that. Except I wake up at five-thirty and realize, in horror, that I don't know Johnny's phone number.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

I get a call from Johnny on a Thursday. "Get into surveillance tonight," she says.

"DC Surveillance? Why, whatever for?"

"Just do it, Alex. Or not. Whatever."

She hangs up. I glare at the telephone. Damn her to hell. I had plans for the evening. An old friend of mine, Sascha, was coming in for the evening. He had always been an excellent distraction, but surveillance meant only one thing. She wanted me to watch.

So I cancel my plans with Sascha. More accurately, I move them up. He arrives in worn, fraying 501's that curve around his ass in a way that drives me crazy, and his flexible, strong form fills out a grey Fruit of the Loom t-shirt quite nicely. It's been so long since I've touched anyone except Johnny that I succumb to Sascha's first fumbling come-on.

After, though, I miss Johnny's first ragged breath. I miss her wickedly sensual sadistic side. I still flip Sascha over for a second go-round. But I don't kiss him good-bye when the time comes, just wave him out the door and make a few phone calls.

Crazy Becky's eyes and ears tonight. She's a weird broad; she lives in her own little world where she's God and everything is her way or the highway. She's sort of a space cadet, always grooving to some internal rhythm and dreaming fantasies.

"Screen sixteen," she tells me when I arrive bearing Chinese.

"Thanks, Becky."

"Saves me the trouble."

I settle in and plug in the headphones. He's on the phone.

"Aren't you coming over tonight, Johnny?"

I can't hear her response, but Mulder grins. That must be a yes.

"Half an hour? Great."

Half an hour? Shit. Of course, watching Mulder preen is always a pleasure. After he hangs up, he calls Domino's, nothing but the best for his new woman, and then turns on some hardcore fuck-me music, Barry White, Isaac Hayes, the Stones, the kind that makes my cock twitch. I use the controls to follow him into the bedroom-- when did Mulder get a waterbed?-- and snicker at his pathetic attempts to sing.

"Let's spend the night together-- now I want you more than ever--" he croons as he-- have mercy-- strips down and heads for the shower. The thought of slick, wet, naked Mulder is almost enough to send me into the bathroom for a few quality moments alone, but I can't. Although I do whistle when shiny, towel-clad Mulder steps out of the steamy bathroom and starts drying off.

When Johnny arrives, wearing a sleek black suit, I feel the oddest twinge of pleasure. Damn, she looks good.

"Coo coo kachoo, Mrs. Robinson," Mulder greets her. "Pizza's coming."

"Good for pizza," Johnny replies, removing her shoes and pantyhose. I don't think she's wearing any underwear. "How's your back?"

"Better."

"I need you to restrain me."

Mulder's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"If you don't stop me, I might hurt you again," she explains, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She kisses him, a sloppy kiss, and then those gem-green eyes turn cruel. She tightens her grip on his neck, pushing him back step by step until they're up against the wall, and she's grinding against his crotch with abandon. Mulder pulls her off him, and slaps her hand.

"Stop that. I mean it."

"I'll do what I want," she replies petulantly. "You can't make me."

"Wanna bet?" he replies, grabbing her wrists and yanking them over her head. "Move backwards."

She complies with a grin. He doesn't get it, but I do. Rough sex is not Mulder's thing at all. He's a gentleman at heart. He wants to make love, not fuck. Preferably, he'd like to make love to Scully for the first time in Paris, with roses and candlelight. Don't believe me? Watch him. He likes things perfect, which is why he's never touched his dream woman. And Johnny, with her little games and rationalizations, is bending him, changing him, with an eye towards the future. When-- my body aches. When.

He practically throws her onto the bed, shoving her skirt up crudely. She scrambles back, just to be contrary. Mulder snarls, actually snarls, and pulls off his belt. She offers her wrists with a grin, and he restrains her.

"What are we gonna play?" she asks innocently.

"Wait here," he replies. "Don't you dare move."

He leaves, and she grins, looking upward. Looking for me, maybe-- hi, Alex, enjoying yourself? Mulder returns with chocolate syrup and I groan. Johnny stares at him as he pushes her skirt to her waist and drizzles chocolate syrup on her thighs.

"Don't move," he warns her. My mouth has gone dry and I keep licking my lips as Mulder starts devouring Johnny's thighs with his tongue. It's nice to see her rattled. Evidently, she was expecting pain, not creativity. "And don't you stop breathing, either. It's dangerous."

"Go to hell," she replies. "I'll get off as I please."

Mulder doesn't reply, just licks further and further up her legs, finally reaching the point of no return and settling his head between her legs, begins to finish his meal. Johnny starts moaning.

"You're so hot-- please-- don't stop-- that's just the place--"

And then she breathes in.

Mulder stops. She looks at him furiously.

"I told you no."

She whimpers, but she breathes again. And he removes his pants, slips on a condom, and plunges inside of her without any apologies. He goes at it fast and furious, and she starts screeching helplessly. But she keeps breathing, and she suddenly starts praying-- or not--

"OhGodohGodohpleaseohGodohGOOOOOOODDDDDDD!" and she goes slack. Mulder chuckles triumphantly and keeps going. Eventually, he moves his hand between them, and she squeals.

"You want more?"

"Don't ask-- stupidstupid questions--" she growls, arching up. "I'm gonna-- I'm gonna--"

She screams. He can't take any more, and he comes, too. I blink and hope I haven't ruined my pants watching them. Crazy Becky looks at me and shakes her head.

"Where the fuck is the pizza?" Johnny asks, as Mulder lets her hands go and rubs them gently. He's such a nice boy, and I got to see firsthand, with such a nice ass. I'm starving. I can't wait much longer...

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

"How do you feel about Italian?" Scully asked one Monday morning. I looked at her blankly.

"Italian men? Overrated. Children."

"Italian food?" Scully asked.

"Oh. Usually, I like it. Especially if it's smothered in alfredo sauce and served with warm, soft, French bread with whipped herb butter--"

Scully's eyes widened. "God, you make it sound like a sin," she murmured demurely.

"So why do my deep emotions about pasta matter so?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night at my place."

I snapped to attention. Okay, that was out of nowhere, even if we have gotten chummy over the past month. "Sure. Kay-- but are you going to sacrifice me to your heathen god?"

"What?"

"Teasing. Nothing."

"No, what?"

"It's just that you're really close to Mulder and nobody else and--" Shit. I had gotten a golden opportunity and I was screwing it up. "I mean-- God. My foot is so far in my mouth it's coming out of my ass."

She looked at me solemnly. "That's okay. If you don't want to come over--"

"No! Look, ignore my big mouth, I spent too much time in New York, stupid Jody. I'm all about dinner at your place, if you can forget that I'm so rude."

"All right. I forgive you already. Is six-thirty okay?" Scully replied, looking inexplicably pleased.

"It's just dandy, darling," I told her. "I'll be there with bells on."

Di Fowley's form was hunched over her desk and another precious X-File when I arrived in the office. Fowley was unlike anyone else I'd met involved with the X-Files. They weren't uniquely personal to her. She wanted to pursue the paranormal, an adventurer, desperate to discover something. Her life wasn't at stake, except in the sense it was her heart's desire to reveal this stuff to an uncaring world.

"Where are you today, Diana?" I asked.

"Colorado," she replied. "On the trail of a very unusual monster."

"Scuzzlebutt?"

"Hmm? No. It's something fascinating, very obscure, based on an Amerind folk legend."

"Cool. I once took an Iowaska journey when I was in high school. I found out my spirit guide is a lion-headed eagle, and that Lucifer is a woman who drives an ice cream truck."

Fowley looked up and glared at me. "Sometimes, Agent Valmont, I think you're still dropping acid."

"We alter reality in our own favorite ways, Sigourney," I answered. "Whether chemical or psychological, the effect is the same. Distortion."

She didn't answer, just went back to her research and her quest, while I took a few files to do prelim research, and a few more for Mulder's amusement. I've always despised sitting still and working on one thing, so I found myself in the cafeteria, headphones screaming PJ Harvey, writing notes on the recurrence of Sasquatch while profiling the nature of Scully's desire. I was singing along to "Rid of Me," quietly, and I was too distracted to notice the man until he sat down beside me.

"Good morning, Agent Valmont."

I pulled off the headphones. It was the Smoking Man. "Hello, sir," I replied. "How's your son?"

"Jeffrey is doing all right. How's Alex Krycek?"

"Last I could tell, he was a slut and a bastard. We're doing well."

"You're having an affair with Agent Mulder."

I grinned. "Yes, sir."

"You realize that's not a wise course of action?" he asked, blowing a smoke ring.

"You realize I don't care?"

He looked at me coldly. "Whatever you and Krycek have in mind, Ms. Valmont, I'd suggest you reconsider now."

"Sir, if I'm involved with Agent Mulder, that doesn't have anything to do with Krycek, you, or the Project. Also, I'm not fond of threats, sir."

"Watch yourself, young lady. You don't have anyone to support you right now."

"Are you gonna blow me sky-high like English Jake?"

"Don't be crass."

"It's not my fault your son is a cake-boy pansy who couldn't deliver here."

He shook his head. "Do what you want, Agent Valmont. I've done my duty."

"Congratulations," I replied. "Now why don't you go chase yourself?"

He didn't reply, either, just picked up and left. I made a face and went back to work.

Mulder was talkative that evening; he got to go back to work the next day, and he was so up that he didn't even blink when I asked him to take me from behind. I'd invited him to my place, because I was sick of providing free porno for the surveillance people. I was slightly disappointed in Mulder. After his initial show of resistance, he was more than happy to go at it anytime, any place. I felt vaguely pissed on Scully's behalf. Love indeed.

"Why haven't you ever made love to Scully?" I asked him afterwards, giving him a few files for good measure. "I just don't get it."

"Why does everyone assume our relationship needs to become physical?" he snapped. "Maybe we don't have sex because our relationship is not involved in any way, shape, or form with sex?"

"And maybe you're a major flipping liar," I replied. "Do you wanna know why people ask why? Because you two radiate sex towards each other. You're begging for it. You two are insane, I mean, goddammit, you want in her so bad **I**  can almost taste it. Admit it, when we're in bed, you've imagined her in my place."

He closed his eyes. "I wouldn't. It would be wrong. Scully wouldn't act like this."

"Yeah, she just gets it on with her vibrator and wishes it were you."

He glared at me. "Don't talk like that. I mean it."

"Fine. But you do love her, don't you?"

"She wrecks me," he answered. "I trust her, I need her like nobody else."

"You're afraid of her."

"Everything I love leaves."

"And if it's not love, she'll stay."

His eyes bored into mine, anguished. I almost felt sorry for him. Life hadn't treated him well. But it wasn't my job to knit up the raveled sleeve of care, or mend the wounded heart. I needed him willing to bend over for Alex, and I needed him to help me understand Scully.

"I'm going home, Valmont. I'll see you tomorrow."

So he left and I went to bed. Then I went to work, and managed to stay out of trouble. Then I came home again, changed, grabbed a bottle of tequila, and drove to Scully's apartment. I was so nervous I kept chewing my cuticles. Finally, I just knocked on the door like an unwilling Girl Scout. A dark haired, older woman opened the door.

"Hi," I said nervously. "Is Dana Scully here?"

"Yes. Hello there, I'm Maggie Scully, Dana's mom. You must be Jody Valmont."

"Johnny, ma'am. Jody's my work nickname."

Scully heard my voice, I guess, and burst out of the kitchen. "There you are! I was afraid something had happened! Mom, that's Jody, Jody, that's my mom."

Maggie looked at me, her, and then shook her head. "This is your first time here?" she asked quietly.

"Mmm-- yeah. But see, I'm really new to the Bureau and I've only been in town a month," I said. "Dana's been wonderful. She's always over at my place in the middle of nowhere Virginia, helping me settle in."

I realized now why Scully had invited me over, and I was impressed. Using your one semi-friendly work acquaintance to get your worried mother off your back-- it was devious. Very devious, and not quite what I'd expected of Scully, who re-emerged from the kitchen with Italian.

"Oh, let me help you, Dana," Maggie said, leaving me alone in the foyer. I did what any professional would-- I cased the joint, starting with the photographs. Sure enough, there was a small picture of Emily, plenty of family shots, but not so many as I'd expected. The room was strangely impersonal, and very lonely.

"Jo?" Scully asked, peering into the living room. "Dinner's up."

"Of course," I replied.

Dinner, thanks to me, was an unqualified success. Scully was a terrible actress, and obviously a little stressed out. I, on the other hand, sparkled, chattered, I turned the world on with my smile. Scully looked grateful, and Maggie never caught on to the fact I was lying. Poor woman, she just wanted her pretty, intelligent, freak of a daughter to be happy. I have to admit, though, Maggie's maternal care made me miss my mother's absolute lack of interest. The last time I'd seen Charlotte, she was in detox with the Beautiful People and enjoying it thoroughly.

Maggie left fairly early, and Scully and I were left to stare at each other at the door. Finally, I just burst into laughter. Scully looked at me like I'd grown a second head, but finally she started laughing, too. I howled, and howled, and finally just flopped onto her couch.

"You're such a TERRIBLE liar!" I screeched. "Oh-- my-- God--"

"And you're a drama queen," Scully answered. "What was that? 'I'm ready for my close-up now, Mr. DeMille,' or something? You were killing me."

"Why didn't you just tell me your mother was coming and you wanted me to cover for you?"

Scully looked embarrassed. "Because it was dishonest, and you were right. We're not really close and it was too hard to ask. I mean, I used you."

I smiled. "Well, I think this counts as breaching the line between coworkers and friends. What time is it?"

"Eight o' five?"

"Cool. Buffy's on."

Scully wrinkled her nose. "You like that show? It's silly."

"It's brilliant. Come on, try it."

She sighed and flipped on the tv. "Okay, we'll try it. But I just don't see the appeal."

"You don't see the appeal in Giles? I despair of your heterosexuality."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who's he, the British guy? Okay, he's fairly attractive. And the white-haired vampire guy."

"Spike? Oh, hell yes, he's a total hotty, and he's on tonight."

So we watched, and I could tell that she liked it, even though it was silly. At the end credits, she turned to me and shook her head.

"I think there's something terribly wrong with Spike doing it his way."

"Oh, but it's fun. And I liked his words of wisdom to Buffy and Angel. I mean, star-crossed lovers-- get over it," I said. "Angsty much?"

She smiled again, rather wistfully. "So you're not for tragic love?"

"Tragedy in love stems from stupidity and shyness. If you love someone, tell them. If you want someone, shag them. Life is very short, and regret is very long."

"Thank you, oh wise Valmont."

I smirked. "No charge," I murmured, moving over to her CD collection. "Hmm-- Sarah McLachlan, of course, Alanis-- the Beastie Boys?"

"License to Ill was my anthem album in college," she answered, as I popped the CD into the player and chose a song.

"Girls! Yeah all we really want is GIRLS!" the Boys shout.

"Oh, God!" Scully laughed. I grooved through the room to the song, dropping to my knees in front of her.

"Woman, don't be so boring. You know what you need?"

"Therapy?"

"A good kiss."

"That, too," Scully agreed. "Find me the man."

I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good hearty smack instead. She looked at me like the second head I'd grown earlier had just starting singing like the Chipmunks. I laughed at her.

"See? That did the trick!" I teased, hoping that maybe, sooner or later, it would be true.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

It's not my fault I'm all about instant gratification. I'm a child of the eighties, and I also use that excuse about the neon legwarmers and a muscle tee hidden in the back of my closet. It was back with the legendary children, and the balls, and the queens in the Village. I was very young, and I only watched, after all--

Oh, yes. Instant gratification has always been my favorite phrase, except for unreciprocated blow job. It's so hard to get either these days. And ever since I saw Mulder and Johnny going at it like dogs in heat, I've needed both.

She's been hinting at the threesome in a really roundabout way, asking how experimental he's willing to be. She also took it in the ass in the name of research, and needless to say, I got a phone call about that.

"I fuckin' just don't see the appeal," she tells me. "It's no fun at all! If I were you, I'd so prefer oral sex."

"It's a lot more fun when you're on top, trust me," I assure her.

"I guess I'll have to take your word on that."

"Why don't you buy a strap-on and tie Mulder to the bed? Get yours back, baby."

She howls. "God, you're so-- I guess that's what I love about you, Krycek. You're a sick, sick son of a bitch and you don't care."

"I do care. I want to know how tight Mulder's ass is. He's so straight. I'm going to rip him up."

"You know, we're just a horrible combination. Bonnie and Clyde."

"Frankenstein and bride of."

"Captain and Tenille."

"Tony Orlando and Dawn."

"Beavis and Butt-Head."

"Beavis, though, had a pretty sweet ass," I say. "I bet Butt-Head was all over that."

She just cracks up. "Alex-- fuckin'-- God, I want you so bad right now! I'm gonna have to go dig out my vibrator."

"The sexual politics of Beavis and Butt-Head turn you on?"

"No, it's you. There's really no one like you. Mulder's just my sweet boy, the kind who reads Playboy for the interviews. I need you, Alex. I want you here so much--"

"And I want Mulder. When?"

"Soon. I'm going to tell him that you're an old co-worker of his I met in New York."

"A male coworker?"

"Well, you just don't wear dresses well."

"We only did that once! And we were stoned!"

"You were still a piss-poor woman. We're getting there, Alex. Give me just a little more time. Please?"

"Of course," I say. "So how's the other job going?"

"It's all right," she says. "I'm due over there tonight."

"You looking forward to that?"

"Only because when I finally get to her, I'm gonna work her over hard. I'm going to make her come undone. She'll never be the same."

"Someone really believes God just made them sex incarnate, don't they?" I tease.

"I just intend to put my whole energies into her pleasure. You'd be surprised how well it works."

She hangs up finally, and I volunteer for some overtime in surveillance. Must-See TV hasn't been the same since Seinfeld went off the air and I need something to do.

Scully's place is tidy, pretty, and screaming for some action. Johnny seems out of place there, even though her outfit-- just jeans and a baby-blue tee-top-- looks fine. I can barely pay attention to the conversation. It's so television for women. Finally, Johnny gets bored and starts asking racy questions.

"Have you ever fooled around with another woman?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Don't be a prude. I did once. Me and my friend Kathleen. We were soooooo fucking drunk at the time, and this girl, Lacey, dared us to make out, so we're like, what the hell. I was nuts, I was laughing so hard, but we just started going at it. I mean, damn, that girl knew how to kiss, we were just crazy. I don't know. I wonder how many nice normal people have interesting stories like that--"

Scully shakes her head. "I was still sorta religious in college, and that would never have been my thing anyway--"

She's tensed up just a bit. "I guess it's an acquired taste, but it is a lot of fun. I understand," Johnny says. She's good at the casual statement, the almost-random comment.

"I thought you were eyeing some guy at the Bureau."

"Yeah. Me and AD Skinner. He's like a macho Captain Picard. Just picture Skinner saying 'Make it so' and you see the appeal..."

Scully starts to giggle. "You're so fucking weird."

"Yes! I am! I am fucking weird!" Johnny says, bouncing up and down on her chair. "And you are uptight! Come here, oh wise and controlled FBI woman!" Scully doesn't move immediately. "Come on."

"What?" Scully says, walking over to Johnny.

"Sit down," Johnny says, pointing to the floor. "Relax. Backrub. I have no wicked intentions, so don't look so wary."

Scully gingerly sits down and Johnny places her beautiful hands on Scully's shoulders and starts to squeeze. "Skinner's too old for me, really. But God, I need a man."

Liar, liar, liar! She's had enough sex lately for all of us. Scully's barely listening, though. Her head is slumped forward and she's making all these breathy little moans. From experience, I know what Johnny's doing to her. And there's something about backrubs that sends your brain out of the window.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Shoulders, neck, spine? Ask and ye shall receive," Johnny whispers, her graceful fingers kneading the muscles between the shoulder and neck. "You're so tense, poor thing."

"Mmmhmmmm-- oohhhhh-- God--"

"We should pool our money and buy a man. We could share, we're adults. We'd leave him a bowl of water and kibble during the day-- maybe some newspaper and a nice dog collar."

"Nnnguh-- you are so weird--" Scully groans. "You give a good backrub, though."

"My mother taught me. She says I must marry a man who gives good rub. She also told me to never date a Kennedy."

Scully is practically purring. I'm surprised Johnny hasn't tried anything. I would have.

"Mmmmmhmmmm--"

"If you do me right here, right now, I'll be your masseuse for life."

"Mmm-- no. Tempting offer though-- woooh."

Johnny lets go. "Better?"

Scully's eyes are drowsy. "You have magic fingers," she says softly.

"No charge. Next time I'll give you a fluffy cloud and then I will own you."

"Fluffy cloud?" Scully asks in dreamy tones.

"It's a full-body massage set to relaxing words. My mom used it on me when I was a kid-- I never slept well. I was a teenager when I realized just how useful it could be. Now--"

Scully smiles at Johnny like she's on drugs. I've never seen Scully quite so doped up.

"You're such a nice girl, Johnny," Scully says. "You're a good friend."

Johnny pats Scully's head. "I have to tell Mulder the way to turn you into a big ball of mush."

"Do you think if Mulder had done that to me, I'd be just mush?"

"Oooh. It also makes you confessional."

"Not that confessional."

I sit back and laugh. Johnny is so very good at what she does. Now if she'd only get finished with Mulder--

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? I learned very young, just by watching the ways men and women interact. Sex is a currency of power, and most women can't bear to use it that way. Therefore, they lose. I'd realized sex is the key to both the oppression and liberation of women. Every man I brought down showed that a little more.

That's what I thought about as Mulder kept going, trying very hard not to come so that I could enjoy myself too. But I wasn't in the mood, and he was too used to selfish pleasures. So I thought about Alex. I thought about Alex and Mulder, actually, and the pained, frightened expression in Mulder's eyes when he realized he had no choice and that he would do what I (and Alex) wanted...

Mulder came, and rolled off of me. He looked worried. "Are you all right-- did you?"

"It was fine. I was just tired and--" I arched up and yawned. "Never mind."

"What?" Mulder asked. That was always a very nice quality of his. He was eager to please.

"I'm just a little bored. It's not you, it's me. He called again," I said, stroking my stomach lightly. "He was so-- you just don't understand how hot he makes me with just his voice. It's a bad scene, Mulder. He turns me into a little puddle of goo."

"So why don't you go back to him?" Mulder asked, pissed.

I rolled onto my side. "No, he's not good to me. You and I, it's just sex, but it's good. You treat me well, and I appreciate that. I guess I'm just masochistic. One time, he really went overboard with the pleasure/pain thing. I can't be with him. I don't even want to be. And he keeps suggesting you, me, and him get together, and my inner slut gets turned on but--"

"You, me, and him? How does he know about me?"

"I told you, silly," I said, stroking myself. "He was FBI. He saw you around, thought you were a real hot number. I told you he was sick."

"Did I know him?"

I stroked harder. "I don't think so. Don't even think about it. Forget it."

"Have you ever been in a three-way?"

"Yeah," I muttered, pulling my hand away. "Fuck it, I'm not getting off tonight-- yeah, there were two. One was the usual guy with two girls thing, my college boyfriend and his ex. That was just a bad idea. They so didn't know what the hell they were doing. But the other one-- I had this gay friend, Karl, and he wanted me to do it with him and his new boyfriend, who'd just come out. That was unbelievable. Two men together can really be-- and they were equal opportunity guys, too. I would have so done that again except they broke up not long afterwards."

Mulder's eyes were saucer-sized.

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know. Do you trust this guy?"

"You'd consider it?" I said.

"I don't know. I never have. It's not my thing."

"That's always what people say until they try something," I said lightly. "I mean, just because I'm straight doesn't mean I've never been turned on by a woman."

"Shouldn't it, though?"

"Desire is about the person, not the gender. I mean, we could have you back out at the last minute and just watch."

He looks troubled. "Would you be averse to trying it with a woman, later?"

I had to hide my grin. This reciprocation deal Mulder and I had going on was paying off in so many ways. If he went into this thinking he didn't have to do anything except me while "my friend" watched and vice versa, maybe I'd have a shot at this.

"Of course not. I mean, we'd have to be careful, though. Wow. I'd never thought you'd go for it."

"I'm still not quite saying yes, Johnny. I mean-- but-- do you think he'd go for it if he and I didn't-- would it really be--?"

He's too sweet. It's unbearable. "I promise I'll make it worth your while," I said impulsively. "You're the best, Mulder."

Mulder nodded, and gently opened up my legs. "Let's try this one more time, hmm?" he asked.

I grinned. Krycek was going to have to book himself a hotel room very, very soon. Because this was going to work. I couldn't believe it, but it was going to work. It just took a little deception.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

"You must have been born under a lucky star," Johnny says. "He said yes. I didn't even give him enough information. I mean, I promised him the world and a reciprocal threesome, but still--"

"Maybe he's on drugs," I say.

"And maybe you're drugging him," she replies.

"You wish," I say. "So, how's your vision of this evening set up?"

"I'm going to take him out for dinner and drinks-- a glass or two of wine, nothing spectacular-- and then we're going to arrive at the hotel room-- book a nice one, I'm going to go all out for this evening."

"And then?"

"Nature's going to take its course. Or the complete lack thereof," she says. A little anxiety worms its way into my stomach. Does Johnny not understand exactly what the relationship between Mulder and me is? I've tried to explain it to her, but it hasn't sunk in--

"What are you going to do if Mulder balks?"

"Once I get him into the hotel room, that's your problem," Johnny says petulantly. "I'll do my best."

Her best. Yeah. I get a room at one of the finest DC hotels, definitely not a by-the-hour place, but I have the same festive cheer as Johnny. This should be an occasion.

Johnny and Mulder arrive at 8:32, and they're arguing a little. I leave the room dark on purpose. I've always been for the element of surprise.

"You should have told me you were going to dress to the nines," Mulder says loudly. He sounds drunk off his ass.

"I told you I was getting done up," Johnny replies. "Mulder, why the fuck did you get so drunk? You look like a reject."

"You wanted me to do this, didn't you?" he asks. "I don't look like a reject. I do because you're so overdressed. We're all gonna end up naked anyway. I don't feel so good. I think I should have had more to drink. And where's your friend, huh? Huh?"

"I don't know," Johnny says, flipping on the light. "Alex? Alex, we're wayyyyyting."

"Boo," I say, stepping out of the bathroom. Mulder doesn't even pause; he pulls out his gun and aims it at my head. "Johnny, tell him to stop that!"

Johnny's eyes go huge and frightened, like she's never seen a man aim a gun before. It's not very convincing, but Johnny's always been just a little over the top. "Mulder, what are you doing? This is not--"

"This is your friend?" he asks furiously.

"Yeah-- what's wrong? Mulder, why do you have that gun aimed at him?" she whispers, kicking the door closed behind us. "Put it down, Mulder, please. I need someone to explain to me what's going on here."

"This man is a murderer and a coward, Johnny. I'm not putting anything down. We're leaving. Come on. Open the door."

"I don't think so," I say, grabbing Johnny by the arm. He's too drunk to make a grab, and I have her pulled up against me and my weapon aimed at her stomach. "What's wrong with him, baby? You said he was willing."

"Alex, you're hurting me," she whimpers, horrified. Thanks to the prosthetic, I can't actually hold her, but she's acting like it. God, she's acting, I realize. She hasn't lost her nerve. "Please don't make a scene. I didn't realize-- I thought-- oh God. Let me go! Alex, just-- don't--"

Mulder puts the gun down and shoots Johnny a dirty look. I move the gun away and she scurries back closer to Mulder. Her face is a literal mask of fear, and she wraps her arms around herself defensively.

"I came here because **you**  said we were going to have a good time," I tell Johnny. "So one of you might as well come over here. I don't care who at this point. Even though you're a fucking liar, Johanna. Just like always, you think it's all a game."

I look at Johnny angrily. She looks ashamed, head bowed down. I think I see a tear glistening in her eye, and she walks toward me slowly. This is the first time in my life she's acted like a victim, a poor woman oppressed by circumstance. I'm shocked. She's faking it very well.

"Alex, don't act like a prick. I'll do whatever you want, just stop it," Johnny says, stepping out of her shoes. I realize what she's just volunteered to do. It takes Mulder a second or two longer. He gapes at her.

"You'd just take it from him?" Mulder asks. "Johnny, we can just walk out of here and leave."

"No," Johnny says, pulling off her stockings, and starting to move toward me. "Alex, please don't hurt me too much. Please. I have to go to work Monday."

Oh, my God. This from the woman whose mantra is "Pleasure is just pain that we like." Mulder holds her back. He's got to be fucking out of his mind. He knows about her pain fetish. Either he's drunk or he's just plain stupid. Either way, I'm getting thoroughly sick of this. She lets out a sob.

"You and me, it always ends up like this," she whimpers. Yeah, yeah, Johnny, you've earned your Daytime Emmy. I leer at her.

"So who's it going to be, you or him, Johnny? I'm waiting, and you promised. So if it's going to be you, sweetheart, get the pretty dress off and get on your stomach. Remember to spread real wide for me, hmm, honey?"

Mulder looks at me angrily. "I should kill you, Krycek. Johnny, stay there."

"Yeah, yeah, I've missed you, too, Mulder. Why don't you just let pretty little Johnny take it? She's a big girl, she likes this kind of thing. I know you know that. Why don't you go home? Or you can stay and watch how grown-ups fuck-- I bet you'd like that. Come on, Johnny, we'll show your new boyfriend how to make you scream."

"Don't act like that," Johnny says, her eyes still communicating a different message. "Mulder, it's all right. I'm fine. Go home. I'll be okay."

But he's too much of a man, too much of a gentleman, to let a woman take abuse from me. He grabs her, and pushes her back against the wall. Johnny's made this happen-- a lousy sort of way, but I still admire the fact it's done, it's happening, and Mulder is taking off his shirt with a glare at me.

"You shouldn't have agreed to this," he tells her, loosening his belt. "This was a bad idea. A really bad idea."

"I know. Don't do this," she says, holding his hands still. "You're drunk. Don't."

"I'll be all right. It's just one more reason I have to kill this son of a bitch. And I'm gonna kill you, Krycek. I really will."

"I really don't want you to do this," she says to him, kissing him. "I could always handle myself with Alex. He won't hurt me. Much."

"Look, I know him better than you do. He's always had a thing for me, and if he doesn't get what he wants, he's going to take it out on you," he says. "This might finally cure you of him."

They're making me nauseous.

"Good for you two. Johnny, do what he says, god dammit. You can get your turn later, and I'll hurt you just as much as you want. And if you're interested, why don't you come over here, Mulder?" I ask. He does what I ask, and I run my hand over his chin. "God, you look so good. I've waited for so long--"

He pushes my hand away. "Could you cut the bullshit, Krycek?"

Johnny sits down in the chair, a black leather armchair which frames her perfectly, like an attending saint. I finally get to see what she's wearing and it's perfect: a crimson velvet dress, with her long hair worn in a loose braid, interwoven with black, white, and red ribbons. Her fur coat (a graduation present from her grandmother, I happen to know) is tossed across the other double bed, sable, beautiful. She watches us now, harmless. Or maybe not.

I slick Mulder up gently. There's so much tension in the room that I'm ready to call the whole thing off. But I can't, not with the object of my desire laying there, looking at me with those eyes.

"Don't worry, you'll like it," I assure him. He turns his head and looks at Johnny. She doesn't move. I curse internally. Fuck it. If they want to act so above this, they can, but I'm getting what I came for.

I thrust in, and it feels good, it feels great, and I start to move against him. The silence in the room, it's as thick as the tension. I don't look at Johnny, not now. I can't. I start to moan as I realize that I'm on Mulder, this is not a dream (though it could be a nightmare) and my hand moves around to his front, caressing him. He shoves my hand away. I can make this real. I can make this good.

Mulder's skin is warm and salty, and I kiss his back, pressing into him. But there's no response. I caress him, but I don't say anything. My eyes catch Johnny's. She's sitting there in the chair, legs crossed, a nasty slam against me. She's not even turned on. She just smiles like Mona Lisa. I told you so, Alex.

I thrust one last time, and Mulder tightens and it's enough to bring me over, cursing and sated, finally. But I can still feel Johnny's eyes burning against my back, the observing devil, in her scarlet attire. Mulder doesn't make a noise. God damn them both.

"That was something else," I mutter. Yeah, it was. It was lousy. And Johnny stares at me from the overstuffed green velvet chair, not smiling, nothing. The little wheels are turning in her head. Mulder lays there, Johnny sits there in her velvets like a living doll, and we all live miserably ever after.

Johnny:

Krycek kissed me on the cheek and walked into the bathroom whistling. Mulder remained in bed, staring up at the dirty light fixture on the ceiling. I hesitated for a moment, then left my place on the chair and climbed in bed next to him. He didn't move, just kept staring up at the ceiling, as though it was trying to tell him something.

Don't trust Johnny Valmont might have been a useful tip.

"Hey," I said softly. "You don't look so good."

"I think I'm going to throw up. He killed my father, you know. Killed Scully's sister, too. Yeah, I definitely need to throw up. Or maybe I just need to shoot him right now."

"Yeah, that's really going to work," I answered. "We could arrest him, maybe?"

"There aren't any cops or justice system on earth who could hold this guy, Johnny," Mulder said. "You knew. Didn't you? Did it not occur to you that a thug with a fake arm might not be legit? Or did your leather fetish get the best of you?"

"I was never one to judge a book by its cover, Mulder. Alex-- he got me past a real rough time in my life. And this summer, when my grandpa died, he was there for me. I guess gratitude kinda blinded me to how he really was. I have this soft spot for him, even when I really, really shouldn't--"

I rolled over. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Did you have any idea I might hate his guts?"

"No. I didn't. I swear before holy God, Mulder. He gave me a good story. I thought he was on the level, and I've never had much sense when it came to sex. He used me, too," I said, making my voice tremble just a little. I thought about turning on the tears, but that would be a little too much, I decided. So I just kissed him on the cheek and acted sad and regretful.

"Did you enjoy watching, at least?" Mulder asked in his best "making the best of it" voice.

"Not really," I said honestly. "You weren't enjoying it. The entire dynamic was off."

God, I was going to owe Alex later. But I also believed in not burning my bridges and I didn't think working at the FBI would be fun with Mulder running around accusing me of being a felon. Just because it was true didn't make it any more appealing.

"Not what you wanted, hmm?" Mulder asked, turning over to look at me.

"Nope. We could still kill him. Self-defense? No? You sure?" I said, kissing him. I just could not figure him out. "C'mere."

Mulder didn't need to be invited twice. He was rough, but I knew that he would be experiencing issues, so I forgave him. At one point, he almost put his hands around my throat, but he stopped. I also didn't get off, but after the relatively crappy way tonight had gone, I didn't expect to.

Krycek came out of the restroom, showered and bare-chested. "Hey! I want to play, too!" he protested.

"Don't I know it, you bastard," I swore at him, getting up on my knees. "You lying motherfucker."

"What? Johnny, what's going on with you?"

"As if you didn't know," I said contemptuously. "You used me, Alex. I don't appreciate that."

"Used you? Excuse me?"

"I would have probably done things a little differently had I known that you killed Mulder's father, asshole," I said, getting out of bed. "I think that you should leave."

"Johnny, you're crazy."

"No, for the first time in my life, I think I'm not," I said, really pouring on the emotion. "It's over between us, Alex."

"Fine. Whatever. You've obviously lost your mind," he said, looking at me. I tried to get across with my eyes that I was sort of putting Mulder on. I didn't particularly want Krycek dead.

"Yeah, whatever," I said. Alex got dressed and left. Mulder looked at me with an ashamed respect. After all, he was the man; it was supposedly his job to rid us of the evil interloper. But, like I said, I had other concerns, primarily keeping Alex alive and keeping Mulder from going off the edge. Mulder's pride wasn't high on my list.

"Do you think you can get home okay tonight?" I asked. "Or do you want us to stay here? Do you still need to throw up?"

Mulder looked at me. "I can get home all right. Johnny, are you okay?"

I realized I had done a really convincing job, and besides, I was trembling and flushed. It would convince almost anyone.

"I'm okay," I said. "Just a bit pissed off. It's nothing like what you went through. I think I'm gonna go home, watch Thelma and Louise, hate Alex, you know, just blow off some steam."

"Sounds like a good idea," Mulder agreed. We dressed quickly, avoiding eye contact. Then I walked out of the room and into the hotel lobby. Alex was standing there, in his leather jacket, looking at my decadent fur coat and velvet dress ensemble with amused disgust.

"Glad you waited," I said.

"I can't believe you did that."

"But it's done," I reminded him. "Come on, creep, let's go home."

"I thought you were finally done with me."

"Oh, you only wish it were that easy," I said as we walked out of the hotel and into the DC night.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

"You suck, Johnny. That was a shitty, shitty way to do it," I gripe at her on the long walk back to her car.

"The man hates you. You killed his father. Sue me if I can't mend the rift between Capulet and Montague. It's not like you two made my evening any fun. I didn't come once," she bitches. "And I had to work to keep Mulder from killing you. Do I hear one thank you, Johnny?"

"Thank you, Johnny," I say coldly. "Maybe if you'd planned this out better, it would have been better."

"Look, unless I was peddling him drugs, it wouldn't have been any better, and you told me no drugs, asshole," Johnny snaps.

I glare at her. We're walking down the icy sidewalk, and she's in heels. I want her to slip and break her ankle. I want her to fall flat on her ass.

"That's not my concern. You handled it poorly," I say.

"But it still happened. You didn't specify **good**  sex in our bargain," she says. "Speaking of that, I want to hear some ideas about making a play by the end of the week. And be smart, send them by courier or tell me in person. Loose lips sink ships."

Shit. She's definitely firing on all thrusters. And I'm not ready.

"What are you talking about, Johnny?"

"Don't play stupid. You got Mulder, I get your help. I have it on tape."

"No you don't. Unless you had a personal tape recorder on you, and that's bullshit if you did."

"Okay, so I didn't, but we made the deal."

"We did, but you renegotiated," I say, grasping at straws.

"I did not!" Johnny shrieks.

"What about Scully? You haven't fucked her yet, have you? I don't see any video of you licking her, baby."

"So what?"

"So, you said that if you couldn't do it, you'd be my slave. The way I see it, that would cancel out our Mulder deal."

Johnny screams and swings at me. I catch her fist gently. "Ah, ah, ah, Johnny. That's not at all ladylike."

"Motherfucker!" she screams, looking ludicrous in her fur jacket suddenly. "You mean I set up all that for nothing? You son of a bitch!"

"Well, it wasn't nothing. It might not have been the best sex of my life, but I did come. And you did arrange it, which is more than I could do."

Johnny's breath comes out in clouds of white haze, and her face is bright red.

"I'm going to kill you, Krycek," she hisses, her temper barely under control. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Baby, you should have thought about it. I mean, I knew it all along, but would you give up an advantage like that? No, you wouldn't."

"You rat bastard scum-ass son of a retarded--"

I shake my head. "Come on, getting mad isn't solving anything. Apologize to Mulder, and concentrate on Scully. I'm really kind of looking forward to that. Buck up, Johnny. You told me that it was going well."

She punches me in the arm, and pushes past me. "Go fuck yourself," she yells back at me, hailing a cab for the now very short trip back to her car. I laugh. All right, so this abortive evening was good for another thing-- a very pissed off, wobbly Johnny.

I hail my own cab and head back for Johnny's place. Everything'll look a lot better once I get a pint of vodka into me.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

I arrived at Scully's still so furious I could hardly breathe. I pounded on the door, my broken high heel in hand. She opened the door and stared at me.

"Johnny, are you okay?"

"Could I come in?" I asked, letting tears creep into my eyes. I was always so proud of being able to make myself cry on command. It was really useful.

"Sure," Scully said, helping me through the door. I took off my coat and hung it up, then threw myself on the couch like a melodramatic teenager. "What happened?"

"God, it was the worst night," I said, kicking off the other heel. "I was out with this guy, and it was just lousy. The date, the dinner, the aftermath, everything."

Scully sat down across from me, and looked at me with concern. She looked great tonight, better than Mulder or Alex, really. Her hair was falling into her face, and she was wearing a grey silk dressing gown.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," I said. "I just was so upset. Men are just such a bitch."

Scully nodded sympathetically. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Coffee sounds good," I said.

"Do you want anything in it?"

"Kahlua if you've got it," I replied. "Were you asleep?"

"No," Scully answered from the kitchen. "Just reading, relaxing."

Reading and relaxing, hmm? I almost wanted to join her, but I figured I was over, I might as well get a little work done. Goddamn Alex-- I tried not to think about it. I was really going to make him pay for being such an asshole.

"Sounds a hell of a lot better than my evening," I said. Scully returned with two cups of coffee. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"What?"

"Why don't you date?" I asked as she sat down on the couch next to me.

"Because I don't have time to go dig up a half-way decent man," she replied. "Besides, all I ever hear are dating horror stories. From you, for instance."

"I guess," I said. "God, I'm so mad at that jerk from tonight! I just want to beat the hell out of something!"

I took a gulp of coffee. It was indeed laced with Kahlua and I blessed Scully's good will.

"What did he do?"

He set me up and fucked your partner, I thought but didn't say. "He was just an asshole. He made me feel so uncomfortable. It's a good thing he isn't around. I'd kick his ass."

Scully drew her feet underneath her, accidentally brushing my leg. "Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry your evening was bad."

"It's okay," I said. "It's not your fault."

For a while we just sat there, until the CD finished and a new one came up. It was Harry Connick Jr., and the sound of his voice sent a dreamy look into Scully's eyes.

"Wanna dance?" I asked, standing up.

"What?"

"Come on. I love this song. It makes me want to slow-dance, and I can't do it all by myself," I said. "Please?"

I held out my hand, and after hesitating, Scully finally took it. I helped her up and drew her into my arms. She kept a little bit of distance, but followed my lead as we started moving around the room.

"He is good, they are happy--" he warbled. I spun her around a little, and started singing along in my best low voice, "He is wrong, they are demure--"

I leaned her back into a dip, and she didn't resist at all. I brought her back up and she put her head on my shoulder. A stunned flurry of thoughts ran through my head. Number one was that it didn't matter how much Krycek tried to play me, I had this woman. She was going to give in.

"He did things that only Superman could do-- things that sis and I could not believe were true--" I sang.

She sighed. "You know, you're a pretty good dancer," she said.

"You, too," I replied. "Sometimes I think we should tell men to go chase themselves."

She gave me a little swat on the butt, and I looked down at her with surprise. Scully was really, really being-- seducible.

"Men aren't all bad. If they weren't around-- well, I suppose there'd be something bad. And stop trying to seduce me while I'm vulnerable," she teased.

Come on. Nobody could resist that opening. And I had more reason than most people did to take it.

"Me? Seduce you? I'd never try to seduce you, Scully. You call this seduction?"

Her eyes caught mine. "What would you call seduction then?"

"Oh, you want me to show you, hmm?" I asked, feeling kind of reckless. "Well, I suppose we'd start with the dancing, because you can really get a feel for what someone wants that way. If I wanted to seduce you, my hand would keep accidentally brushing up and down your hip, so that you felt just a little twinge of arousal. And I'd bend my head down a little and kiss your earlobe, just a little kiss--"

Much to my surprise, she didn't pull back, even though I didn't do anything. She just kept listening as we sort of danced across the living room.

"Then, I think, when I was tired of dancing, I'd sit you down on the couch, like now--" I said, sitting her down and sitting right next to her. "Then I'd start whispering sweet nothings in your ear."

"Sweet nothings?"

I leaned in and started whispering. "Sweet sweet sweet, sweet sweet sweet, sweet sweet sweet-- you used to be so sweet to me, well--"

She made an almost laughing sound. It became a definite gasp when I put my hand on her thigh and slid it up a few inches.

"And then I'd tell you that you made my heart beat faster, Dana, and that when I see you, all I can think about was what you would feel like under my hands, how warm you'd be in my arms, how good you would taste against my lips--"

Her breath started coming faster, and her pupils were dilated. I was stunned to realize she was turned on and she wasn't telling me to stop. This night had definitely occurred in some alternate reality. But I wasn't ready.

"Of course," I finished, removing my hand and standing up, "I'm not seducing you. Obviously."

She stared up at me, almost panting. "Obviously."

Scully stood up and walked into the kitchen with the coffee cups. She didn't come out for quite a while.

"Scully-Dana?" I called from the living room. "Are you okay? I think I'm ready to go home now. Can I borrow this CD?"

She walked into the room, cheeks flushed and breathing a little too hard. My little act-- or maybe the memory of my hand on her thigh-- had definitely turned her on.

"Sure, you can borrow it," she said. She looked really, really twitchy. "I wasn't using it."

"You're a great friend," I said, giving her a hug. "I've gotta go. I'm so shagged and I just want to go home, and curl up in a little ball and pass out."

"Okay," Scully said breathlessly. "See you later, Johnny."

I left, and made it to the car before I started laughing. If I was right-- and I was sure I was-- Scully was already running a bath. I could just see her, eyes half-closed, hands moving furiously between her legs.

And I was going home to Alex the Selfish Pig. Fuck. Why hadn't I just seduced Scully now? Either way I had to put out, but at least I wouldn't have to get my own breakfast at Scully's.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

"I don't want to sleep with you tonight," Johnny says, walking in the door. She's holding breakfast-- pizza, I'm thinking-- but her eyes are ice cold.

"Is it my fault your threesome went awry?"

"Fuck that. I don't care about that. I'm sort of pissed off at you for other reasons, remember?" Johnny says. "Get out of my room, I want to change."

I snort. "Don't be like that, Johnny. What's wrong? Is Scully too much for you?"

"No," Johnny says. "I mean it, go eat something, I need a few minutes."

She's so fucking hot when she's angry. She flushes, and her eyes lighten and sparkle. But I still do what she says, taking the pizza into the living room and sprawling out on the couch. She slams the door to her bedroom and I start eating, pissed that I have to put down the pizza to flip channels. Being one-armed is no fun.

I'm on my third slice of pizza and watching Eva cavort on Green Acres when Johnny emerges, in sweats and a mean expression.

"Give me the box," she says, taking it away before I can even take it. "You know, it took a lot of work for me to fuck Mulder in the first place. I really, really would have appreciated the knowledge it wasn't necessary."

"Don't be a bitch, Johnny. If you can't handle a little double dealing, how are you going to handle the real world?"

"Oh, like I'm ever going to get anywhere with you along. And like this is bringing me any closer to power. I kind of realize that you came up with this idea to distract me, but be warned, Alex. I'm not distracted."

She starts eating, her legs bouncing up and down angrily.

"It's not like I had a good time or anything either. I called Mulder's place--"

"What are you, stupid?" Johnny snaps. "God damn it, leave him alone. You got a piece, you're never going to get the whole thing. Deal with it."

"God, what's wrong with you? Is it that time of the month?" I sneer. Johnny swallows a bite of pizza, and then stands up and walks over to where I'm sitting.

"Men!" she snaps. "You're a real loser, you know that? I get you whatever you want, but you treat me like shit."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to piss you off. Jeez."

"Are you really sorry?"

"Yeah. I'm really sorry."

Her expression changes. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Treat me nice for once, maybe?" she says. She looks really tired and unhappy all of the sudden. I feel guilty. Johnny's younger than she wants to admit, and in those baggy sweats, she looks exhausted and miserable. "Is it so much to ask that you don't act like such a prick?"

"Come here," I say. She walks over to me and sits down on the couch. "I'm sorry, Johnny, I really am."

I rub her back awkwardly. "So you really think you can do it?" I ask. "With Scully, I mean?"

"Yeah," she says. "I really do. She wants it. She hasn't admitted it to herself, but she's lonely and horny and she likes being appreciated."

I kiss the back of her neck. "I was looking into future opportunities for us. How do you feel about London?"

"It's an okay place."

"I was talking to Beavis, we've got a facility there, and I was suggesting that he put us in over there. The guy in charge is a moron, we'd be running the joint in no time."

Johnny's head falls to one side. "It sounds dull."

"It is dull, but slow and steady. We get the information we need, we earn a place, then we move from there."

"I have the information we need," she murmurs. "You don't think I spend all my time at the FBI doing work, do you?"

I laugh. "You're so set on this entire taking over the world thing."

"For a long time," she says. "Alex, what are you doing?"

My hand is resting comfortably on her thigh, and it's moving upwards.

"Relaxing you. After all, if you want to get the London job, you're going to have to start getting your ass in gear, and that takes you in a good mood. Just close your eyes, and I'll make it better."

She's so easy to win back, I realize as she closes her eyes. This is my girl, my Johnny, and one who adores me. We're all right together. Sometimes it's better, lately it's been worse, but I'm not complaining in general. I hope she gives up this Scully seduction thing, though. It's wasting our time.

* * *

 

**Scully:**

I have the dream again. I'm in bed alone, completely nude but covered by a white sheet. Johnny arrives, wearing an enormous black trenchcoat and shiny Nazi boots. She kisses me, not that silly smack kiss from a month ago. This is a real, open-mouth kiss. Her tongue slides across my teeth, teases my tongue, explores the back of my mouth and I'm shocked to find myself kissing back. Her hand is on my breast, and I'm waiting for her to go further. She lets me go and smiles at me.

"I can't have sex with you. You're a woman," I protest feebly.

"I'm your friend. I promised I'd help you out any way I could, didn't I?" she replies.

She takes off the trenchcoat and lays it on the floor. She unlaces the boots and throws them among my dolls (dolls I've never owned but recognize as mine immediately). She's still fully dressed and leering at me, and I wrap the sheet around me tighter. I'm terribly confused.

"Do you know what? Underneath all these clothes, I'm naked," she jokes, laughing at herself. She starts removing her clothing piece by piece, and her body seems to change. Her breasts were always so full and now they've shrunk, and her pants are bulging at the crotch. I hold the white sheet close and watch her undress silently, feeling aroused, ashamed, and curious. Finally, she's completely naked, and she's a man.

"I don't understand."

She kisses me again, pressing her erection against me, and I whimper.

"Aren't you happier now that it's legal?" she asks, loosening my grip on the sheet and pulling it away. But she's not she, she's he, and he's fully functional and seducing me. "Now that you can let yourself--"

This time, I wake up before we get any further. I pound the pillow. "Every fucking night!" I hiss into the night air. This is driving me crazy. Once upon a time, when my sexy dreams featured Mulder and a pint of whipped cream, life was infinitely easier. Now I feel guilty and weird. I keep having fantastic dream sex with this androgynous character who looks like my friend Johnny, whose intentions are merely friendly. I'm so goddamn sado-masochistic I could scream.

I try to go to sleep and fail, and end up on the couch, listening to one of Johnny's CDs-- calling Olson, calling Memphis, I am calling-- can you hear this?

Johnny is all over my apartment. Her copy of The Mask of Zorro is in my VCR, her Dar Williams CD is in the player, her brown chenille sweater is on my kitchen table. When I pass out on the couch, her mouth is between my legs and licking me dry. She's so good, and her fingernails are dragging on my thigh. I've always loved her nails, and in this dream, they're pale gold. Even the male Johnny keeps her perfect manicure in my dreams.

I wake up so frustrated and horny I have to get myself off in the shower on a Sunday morning. Sunday, Sunday, can't trust that day-- and I'm going to church and Ms. Valmont has volunteered to come with me. I'm suddenly horrified. Johnny is not at all a church person. I wonder if she even knows what to wear, I fret as I dress.

"Knock, knock," Johnny calls. I rush out of the bathroom with my mascara half-applied. I stare at her. "What's wrong, Dana, am I under- dressed?"

I shake my head. Oh, God, how could I be fantasizing about this girl, this barely grown woman, this prim, proper-- my God, she looks like an overgrown schoolgirl. She's wearing this black wool overcoat that comes down to her knees and flares out beautifully, and mostly covers a blue plaid wool jumper. Under that is the faintest hint of a cream satin blouse. Her stockings are black, and she's wearing the coolest shoes-- black velvet platform heels, something Alice in Wonderland would wear. Her hair is pulled back, and she looks so young and innocent. She's a porcelain doll come to life.

"Good," Johnny replies. "You look great. I'll grab myself some coffee while you finish your make-up."

She walks away, and I go back to the bathroom and finish my make-up. I refuse to think about the dreams, or how good that lipstick looked on her. I walk back into the kitchen. Johnny looks at me critically, and walks up to me.

"You have a little smudge of lipstick," she says, wiping it off delicately. I almost lose my grip. She steps back and admires her work. "That's good. You ready?"

"Yeah," I say, grabbing my coat. Bless me Father, for I have sinned--

Johnny is uncharacteristically quiet when we enter the church. All she needs is a hat, and she'd be a five nine version of one of those Madeline moppets. I look at her face, the soft, almost olive-toned glow of her skin in the subdued lighting. She's my friend, I chant to myself. This woman is the only friend I've had in eternity, except for Mulder, and Mulder would never attend church with me, would never sit silently and listen to Mass, would never look so touched and beautiful as he walked up to the altar--

"I haven't been to church in eternity," she murmurs afterwards. "And I wasn't raised Catholic."

"What were you?"

"Episcopalian. It suited my grandmother's nature and my mother's a spiritual, not religious. Do you think it would be okay if I lit a candle? I mean, I always wanted to do that. It looked so holy and meaningful when people did it on tv."

"Yeah, I think so. Who are you lighting the candle for?"

"A friend," she says softly. "The guy up in New York. He's had a few disappointments lately."

She walks up to the glowing candles, and follows the lead of the old woman standing up there, lighting the candle, praying-- I just stare at her and imagine her head between my legs. I'm going straight to hell in a handbasket. She's a nice girl, she's just enthusiastic, she's not trying to seduce me--

"Are you doing anything this afternoon?" she whispers in my ear as she walks back. "I kinda don't want to go home."

"I'm free," I whisper back. She grins, and ropes her arm around me, for all the world like an innocent schoolgirl with her best friend all over again. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, we've gone to church like good girls," Johnny says conspiratorially as we leave the church and weave our way to the car. "We have to be bad now so that we'll have something to tell the priest at our next confession."

We reach my car and I look at her speculatively. "What kind of bad?"

"Oh, I don't know. We should smoke cigarettes and say dirty words and steal candy," Johnny says, letting me go and getting into the car. "Or we could be really bad and think about sex."

I look at her. "Okay."

"Okay what?" she says, as I slam the car door closed.

"Okay, we can think about sex."

She laughs and laughs, and I put the car into reverse as Johnny starts fiddling with the radio, changing it from the classical choice to classic rock. Pink Floyd starts howling from the radio.

"We don't need no education-- we don't need no thought control--"

Johnny sticks her feet up on the dashboard and starts singing along. "No dark sarcasm in the classroom-- Teachers leave those kids alone-- Hey, teacher! Leave those kids alone!"

We get back to my apartment, and Johnny's schoolgirl image has become remarkably bedraggled. The stockings are gone, gone, gone, and bare leg against black velvet shoes is obscene. Her hair is loose again, and I look at her, propped against my doorframe and I really feel guilty to wish there were a secret beneath that jumper. I feel even worse realizing fuck the secret, I just want to jump her.

"Scully, are you okay?" Johnny asks suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been looking at me weird all day," she says. "Do I have a really big pimple on my chin or something?"

She moves closer to me, her eyes locked on mine. I start to shiver inside.

"No, it's not that. It's just I've never seen you look like this. You look like a Catholic schoolgirl. It's really cute."

She shakes her head disapprovingly, and walks two steps closer.

"That's not it at all," she says, reaching out and putting her hand on my shoulder. "Come on. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. I've just had these weird dreams and you keep starring in them and--"

"Starring?" she says, moving her hand to my neck. This isn't innocent, I realize. She's never been innocent. This is the opposite of innocent, and all of the sudden, I'm kissing Johnny. It's like my dreams, except in my dreams, there aren't any breasts pressed up against mine, and when I let go, Johnny doesn't look quite so feminine and quite so pleased with herself.

"I--" I whisper, and then I walk off. Oh, God, what's going on? All of the sudden, Johnny's got a thing for me? Johnny who assesses the male FBI agents like they're meat on the slab? Johnny who assesses me like I'm meat, but-- I wasn't-- I didn't--

She follows me into the living room. "Admit it," she says calmly. "You're having sexy dreams about me."

"That's none of your business!"

"Well, you've already admitted it part of the way, so open up."

"You're a man in the dreams."

Johnny busts up laughing. "Oh, God, talk about legitimizing desire!" she chortles. "Dana-- honey-- don't look like that. Come on, we're friends. You can talk to me."

"Aren't you straight?"

"Usually," Johnny replies with a shrug. "But I don't know. Lately you've been all I think about. I mean, maybe it's just you, but I mean- well, you are gorgeous. And I care about you."

I blush. "Johnny-- I mean--"

"What? It's true. I bet you look fantastic naked."

"Don't--" I warn. "We're not going this way. You're straight, I'm straight, we're friends, we're not talking about this."

Johnny's face darkens. "So it's going to be like you and Mulder, huh? Like you told me, you can't face it, so it's not there. News flash, Dana. Mulder might like it that way, but I don't."

She gets into my physical space again, and caresses my face. "God, you're so uptight about things," she murmurs, bending down and kissing my cheek. "Don't you trust me? Are you so unwilling to do one little thing to make yourself happy?"

Her arm's around my waist now and she looks at me. Her eyes have gone the most radiant shade of green, and she presses a finger against my lips and traces down my chin and my jaw to my neck, and then to the back zip of my dress-- and I pull away.

"Stop it," I tell her. "I don't want to do this."

I don't. I don't. My body's aching and if it were in control, I'd have this dress off now, but I know better. This is just a response to a physical stimulation. But she kisses my neck just below the ear, a real hot spot, and I start losing my convictions. I do trust Johnny, and--

I press myself against her, rubbing up and down, and then it's Johnny who lets go and looks down at me.

"No," she says suddenly. "I don't think we should do this."

"What?"

"You've been having strange dreams, you're obviously not yourself," she says. "I'm your friend. I admit that I wouldn't mind-- experimenting, for lack of a better word-- but you don't love me. You don't really want this. You're lonely, and I won't use you. I care about you too much, as a friend, and as more than that."

I stare at her. My dress is half undone, my lips are swollen, and my panties are dripping. I want to be used. I want Johnny right here and right now.

"Johnny?"

"No," she says flatly, standing up. "Take a nap. Get some rest. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

She kisses me on the cheek, but all the vigor has gone out of it. I watch as she leaves me alone in the apartment, feeling conflicted. Damn it. She's left this all up to me, and I don't know what I want now. I can't want Johnny, but--

I do what she says. I take a nap. She's very obliging about sleeping with me in my dreams.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

It was another Wednesday, of course.

Mulder walked up to me about lunchtime and pulled me aside. "I won't have sex with you here," I told him.

"I don't care. I need to talk to you about Scully," he replied. "She's just been really upset this week, and she won't talk to me about it. Do you have any clue what's wrong?"

I did, of course, but I was not about to tell Mulder his partner was lusting after me and didn't like it at all. That was none of his business, the same way it was none of Scully's business that Mulder and I had been having a clandestine affair. That hadn't gone so well since Krycek had had his way with Mulder, but oh, well. That was the point, wasn't it?

"No. I haven't seen her since Sunday."

"Is she avoiding you?"

"No, I was just out of town Monday and Tuesday. Fowley and I were busy in South Carolina investigating reports of faeries. Turns out some local kids were playing with lights out in the backwoods," I replied. "So, do you want me to talk to her?"

Mulder looked relieved. "Would you?" he asked. "She just won't say a word to me."

"It's not a problem, Mulder. I care about Scully, too," I replied, giving him a pat on the back. "So, are you busy, oh, Saturday night?"

"Not that I can recall," Mulder said.

"One of these days, you should really talk to Scully about being in love," I said, patting him on the arm. "I'll see you then."

I waited until after work to talk to Scully. In fact, and I'm not proud of how I handled it-- I followed her home. But I had an agenda to fulfill for tonight, and whether I won or lost, it was time to get this taken care of.

I waited until she was inside her apartment before heading up. I was feeling very wicked tonight, ready to roll. Silly Scully, she actually thought I left because I was trying to stop her from sleeping with me? Hah.

I knocked on the door. She didn't answer. I knocked again.

"Dana, it's me, and I know you're there," I said. "Open up."

The door slowly opened, and Scully stood there. "What do you want?"

"I hear you've been in a bad mood for the last few days," I said. "Can I please come in?"

She let me in slowly. "I'm not going to attack you," I said dryly. "What's going on with you?"

"I haven't slept, like you said. I've been-- not myself."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Yes I am," I replied. I looked down at her and bit my lip. This was no time to feel sorry for her. After all, when I got the world and Alex Krycek, I had every intention of being nice to Scully and Mulder. And as for right now, she was going to be seduced with style. In fact, I noticed her nipples were already hard.

"No you're not, or why would you come here now?"

"I'm here because I want to make things right between us," I said slowly. "Tell me what you want. What you really want. You once told me you liked the way I was forgiving. I'll forgive you no matter what you say."

I dragged one thumbnail across my hand anxiously. This was it, this was it, this was--

"I'm afraid," she whispered. "This is so unlike me. I don't know what I've been thinking. It's been-- you're the only friend I've had in a long time, except for Mulder. You make me feel good. And--"

"Don't worry. I'm going to make this very easy for you."

"I won't feel a thing?" Scully asked, faking a grin.

"Hah. When I get done with you, young lady--" I said, running my hand down her neck. "You'll feel lots of things. Hopefully you'll enjoy all of them."

I took her arm and walked her into the bedroom. "So, what do you want to do precisely?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if it were up to me, I'd be kissing the hell out of you already, but I want you to feel comfortable about this, Scully, I really do," I said, easing the coat off of her shoulders and letting it slide to the floor.

"I trust you," she said. "God, stop respecting me! You're acting like Mulder."

"Me? God forbid."

"I lust like a normal person, Johnny."

"Good, because so do I," I answered. I decided to get bolder. I wrapped my arm around Scully's waist and reached up under her blouse. "Hmm. I think I want those."

She looked at me like I'd gone nuts. "What?"

I pounced. There's no other word for it, I pounced and she ended up falling back across her bed as I covered her with my own body and started covering her face with butterfly kisses and stroking her sides with busy, hot hands.

"I want those. They're my present," I said between kisses. "And I'm unwrapping them now."

I started unbuttoning the blouse carefully, pulling it aside and tossing it to the floor. I then primly removed her bra and pounced again, but this time it was more serious. My mouth had found the hollow of her collarbone, and one of my hands was busy fondling, while the other carefully moved up and down between the curve of her waist and the swell of her hip. Scully moaned.

"You're enjoying yourself, are you?" I whispered, kissing the top of each breast. This was starting to become a lot of fun. "You like it a lot."

"Don't stop," she gasped desperately. "Oh my God, this feels good."

I rubbed up against her, realizing I still had the fully clothed advantage. That had to change. I stripped down until I was naked to the waist, too. Tonight wasn't a power game. I'd already earned surrender, and I was going to be ruthless. I planted a kiss on her stomach, and started stroking her thighs. She whimpered again, louder. I realized that poor Scully's skirt and pantyhose were probably getting very uncomfortable and that I needed to take care of that.

It surprised me how utterly compliant she was. It sort of upset me, too. "Scully? You enjoying yourself?"

"YES!" she snapped. "Johnny?"

"What?"

"If you don't fuck me soon, I'll kill you. I want your hands on me."

"Okay," I replied. That was better. I reached under her skirt and yanked off pantyhose and underwear. Scully moaned again, arching her back as my fingers started walking up the delicate curves of her inner thigh. "Are you sure?"

"Please--" she said, as my hand explored a little further up. She was already wet. I hid a grin.

"Good good good," I whispered, moving my hand away. She mewled, made this pathetic little noise that probably would have erased Mulder's brain. But I was too busy ridding her of that pesky skirt to pay too much attention. "Just a little while longer. Trust me."

She started squirming as one of my hands returns to her breasts and the other to her warming inner thighs. I tormented her breasts, listening to her whimpers become more and more shrill.

"Johnny-- God, you're killing me, please-- I want it-- I need you--" listening as her voice gets more and more desperate. Finally, I kissed her, a long deep kiss as she rubbed up against me insistently. Then I pulled back and spread her open wide, pushing her knees up. With the same scientific detachment I showed Mulder, I pushed three fingers inside of her hard.

"Oh my God," she said, her hips nearly rising off the bed. I pulled my fingers back and thrust into her again harder. She squealed. "Oh my God."

I started moving in and out, faster, harder, listening to see what was most effective. She started writhing, and that was extremely gratifying. After a while of driving her closer and closer, I bent my head below her waist and starting licking her stomach. She sobbed. I drove into her again, and my tongue flicked her clit. She bucked, and howled. She was close, and I was going to bring her all the way down.

There was nothing left of mercy. I wanted her begging for more when I finished. My mouth encircled and just kept dropping down on her again and again, and I quickened my hand's pace just a bit more, and a little more and she finally came hard against my fingers, her breathing sobbing against my forehead. I didn't stop, though, I kept going. I was going to bring her over again.

"I can't-- no--" she protested.

"Oh, yes, you can," I replied, looking up at her, ramming into her and realizing she was just about ready to come again. "Don't you know, dear? We've only just begun."

* * *

 

**Alex:**

It's the middle of the night, and I'm busy downloading from "The Most Triple XXX Site on the Net! M/M Porn, Fantastick Fantasys!" when the little voice chirps at me:

"You've got mail!"

I click up the mail. It's from dangerous_woman@freemail.nz and the subject line reads SUCCESS. Stunned, I start reading the message myself.

<<I'm sitting in Scully's apartment, topless, and very very smug.

Why, do you ask? Well, DUH. I've got yet another lover, and it was something else, Alexei dear, really. I think that poor Dana has actually fallen in love with me, and I've-- well, you know I experimented with bisexuality once or twice, but this is something else. She admitted that she'd been dreaming about me, and once I persuaded her to bed, she behaved with such utter abandon--

Well, one thing's for certain, Krycek-- the woman is hardly frigid. Quite the opposite. She was so beautiful, so endearingly wanton and sweet, that I ended up declaring I loved her. And do you know Alex, at the time, I really meant it?

I've missed you, dear. The FBI is twisting my brain. I'll have a few more evenings with sweet, naive little Dana (who is going to get an education, let me tell you) and then, I'll make my way back to New York with your proof.

Gotta go. She's waking up. Don't disappoint me, because I own you now, Alex. Don't dream I've forgotten what I get.

Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite--

Johnny.>>

I scream wordlessly. Motherfucking son of a bitch! This can't be happening. This simply can't be happening. I never thought she'd get anywhere with Scully, come on, Scully? She's a straight arrow, a square, a party pooper!

I reply to Johnny's email very curtly: > and log off. I don't care if I'm missing the best m/m porn on the net, I have to take a walk or I'm going to break a window.

I stalk down the streets of New York, depending on my gun and my street smarts to keep me safe. Fucking Johnny Valmont and her fucking little games. She knew she was gonna win. Played me like a fiddle. I thought I was so smart--

I stop at a little diner and order pie. The waiter's a doe-eyed poet-type boy, who looks too mournful to be real. He refills my coffee and brings me pie silently until I can't stand it.

"What are you so upset about?" I ask.

"My girlfriend left me for my best friend."

I roll my eyes. "Is that all?"

"All? I loved Sarah! I still do!"

"Look, you think you got problems? My lover and I made a bet that she couldn't fuck this woman, and if she did, I'd have to become her slave. We also made a bet that she couldn't arrange a threesome between me, her, and this guy, and she did that. I mean, there was no fucking way that she could pull it off. It was impossible. She tricked me."

Poet-Boy stares at me. "I--"

"Look, son, write a nasty power ballad about Sarah's bitchy ways, sell a million copies, and sleep with bimbos for the rest of your life. It's a lot easier than falling in love, and it's a lot easier than dealing with an intelligent woman. Here's ten bucks, keep the change."

I stalk out of the cafe, and keep striding through New York streets, the chill in the air refusing to cool down my mood. I can't help but hear Johnny laughing at me. Don't mess with Johnny, she told me when we first met. I'll chew you up and spit you out.

I have to stop her. I mean, if she deals like this with her so-called friends, what will she do to the world? I mean, dreaming is fine but this is reality. And despite all my scheming, I like this world. It's a good place. We can't have Ms. Valmont screwing it up, now, can we?

My mind starts racing with a thousand ways to slow Johnny down, reign her in, keep her back, and my anger slowly cools as I jog back to our apartment, wondering how on earth I got myself into this stupid situation.

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

I've never believed that romance actually existed. Romance was, to me, a blend of sado-masochistic patriarchy, economics, and a desperate fear of being alone that resolved itself into a weirdly pleasant madness. Roses and kisses and love letters-- just symptoms of another ill person in a society that drove them into partnership with another frightened human being.

Maybe I was finally lonely enough, but I was in love with Dana Scully. When I seduced her for the first time, the sheer intensity of her surrender had dazzled me. Not even Mulder had been so ready to just let go. And I'd spent so much time in her head I'd started admiring the inner will of the woman. She was lonely, and she'd had a shit life, a lot like mine. But she wasn't so ready to fuck the world over just to prove she could. She had some sort of integrity and a faith in the world I didn't believe in.

So that night, about a week after the first time, we were on the couch, right? Nothing sexy going on, her head was just in my lap and I was playing with hair, when she asks me a question.

"Are we in love?"

I stopped cold. My fingers just stopped tangling her hair, and I paused.

"What's love?" I managed to reply.

"No, I mean it, Johnny, none of that bullshit."

I bit my lips and made a face, the faraway face I'd always made when the world asked me questions I didn't want to answer.

"It could be," I said eventually. "I don't know. See, this is different. I've always been sort of-- well, a slut, I guess-- and I've had a few guys that I've really, really thought I loved but most of the time, they turn out to be assholes. But this could be it. I mean, I did it right, the way my grandma told me."

"What did your grandma tell you?"

"She said you should only make love-- and she always used that phrase, too, she was a class act-- that you should only make love when you were friends, best friends. Grandma was a deep believer in best friends make the best lovers," I said, stroking her hair again. "And I've never had many friends like you. It's more than friendship, and then there's the element of desire--"

Scully stiffened. "Is it really desire, though?"

"I'm not sure, let me check," I said, moving my fingers from her hair to her breasts. I grinned when she arched up. "That qualifies as desire, Dana dearest."

"Not now, Johnny, I can't do any more. I'm going to be bow-legged tomorrow."

I laughed. "You didn't like my toy collection?"

"Are you kidding? It's welcome here any time," Scully replied. One arm pulled my face down for another kiss. "And I do mean that, Johnny."

"Good," I answered. "So, to your original question-- is it love? I think I'd call it a qualified yes."

"Qualified?"

"There's still Mulder."

Scully groaned. "Johnny," she complained.

I put one finger on her soft, pliant lips. "Ah ah ah, if you're talking you can't be listening, honey. I'm not upset. After all, he came back from the dead for you, pretty much. There are connections there I couldn't ever imagine between the two of you. Just admit it. You've been in love with Mulder for a very long time."

She looked at me, frustration clouding her bright blue eyes. "Maybe I have been, but so what?"

"It's a question of desire, as it's always been. And the survey says?"

"It's not fair or right to you or Mulder. You can't be in love with two people at the same time and it be right. God--"

I shook my head and smiled. "I'll take that as a yes. Scully-- Dana-- jeez, I have to decide what name I like better-- you and Mulder have history. Love. A very complex and draining friendship. You and I have known each other three months. I don't expect to replace Mulder in your affections."

She looked up and me and I realized she might be ready to cry. "God, you're too much. You're enough to make anyone fall in love with you. Where did you learn to be so damned forgiving?"

"I picked up my life philosophy on the road. People are usually pretty fucked up, you know?" I said. "Or maybe you don't know. If you look for the screwed up bits, you're never happy. I mean, yeah, I've had some awful times in my life, but I didn't even realize it sometimes, because I was too busy enjoying even one ray of light. I'm so self-deluded I manage a lot of happiness."

"I don't know," Scully replies softly. "I might like to learn that trick."

"Oh, well, honey, then you also have to learn the other Johnny Valmont trick to living."

Scully tilted her head. "Which is?"

"Carpe diem. If you really want something, go for it."

"Hasn't that ever backfired on you?"

I nodded. "But usually it works out. You'd be surprised how kind the world can be--"

"Okay," she says. "I'll try it. Johnny, I'm-- I think-- I am in love with you. I love you. I do. And I want you to make love to me again, right now."

I was stunned to realize that maybe, just maybe, I was in love and that the world was kind.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

So I wait for Johnny to arrive home one nice Thursday. She's been incommunicado ever since that email about Scully, and I want to know what's going on in her wicked, dark-haired skull of hers.

I wait in the dark, clothed in black, thinking in black, existing in utter and total night. Waiting. The entire Mulder fantasy didn't pan out. One-night stands with pretty boys in the Village satisfy the body but not the soul. And I realize now what's been driving me to go after Mulder, despite the fact he and I would never make a good fit.

I want it all. I want the body, I want the sex, I want the mind, and I want the soul of someone worth my while. Someone who gives me more to live for than the futile desire for just one more day without dying. I consider what all these things mean, consider what I'm doing, and stop cold.

Is it possible I'm in love with Johnny? Is it possible that I'm jealous of Johnny and Scully not because I have to be her slave but because the idea of my Johnny in love with that scrawny, icy bitch makes me squirm with envy?

I wait. It's not just jealousy. I could be in love, but I'm also a practical man. The thought of Johnny Valmont running things up top sends a chill down my spine. She likes power too much, and she's terribly, terribly impulsive. She could destroy us without trying too hard. And she's a woman. She might feel sympathy for the victims of our necessary work.

The door opens, and light pours into the room. Johnny is surrounded in a halo of light, looking at me waiting on the couch.

"You could have turned on a light," she says gently, closing the door behind her and flipping on a light or two. "I've been expecting you to come by."

"Why are you late? Were you too busy licking carpet to come home on time?" I ask savagely.

"I got stuck in traffic. And who the hell are you, my husband? I don't think so, Alex," she answers, plopping down beside me on the couch.

"I'm here because you own me. I got Mulder and now you're in bed with Scully."

Johnny nods. "Video's on its way, by the way."

"I thought you loved her."

"I might," she answers. "But I'm not ever going to be number one in her books. And I have other ambitions than to screw a pair of bumbling FBI agents all the time. Even though she admitted she loved me, and I think, despite the fact she's afraid of it, she does."

I smile. "That's my girl."

"No, you're my boy. But that's definitely me," Johnny corrects. "I have all sorts of plans. I think I'll keep my job with the FBI for the time being, but we've definitely got to start moving. You know Smoking Man threatened me a while back? Bastard. I couldn't believe it."

"What do you mean you're keeping your job? You're done now, say good- bye to Mulder and Scully, and get your ass back to New York where you belong."

Johnny's eyes glitter furiously. "One of the reasons I never called myself your girlfriend is because men always seem to think they have power in any sort of mutual relationship."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I fulfilled your little bet, Krycek, even once you pulled that 'You have to seduce Scully or you're my slave' bullshit. You belong to me now, bitch, and you better get used to it. What I say goes, do you understand me?" she asks, crawling over me and holding me down by the shoulders. Her nails are a pale gold tint and they shine.

"I understand."

"What do you understand?"

"I understand that you've fallen in love with Scully and you want to have your cake and eat it too," I say. "Let me tell you a story, little Johnny. Listen up, because you've kind of been out of it lately."

She narrows her eyes to slits, olive-green slits. "I'm listening."

"Once upon a time, there was a woman who wanted the world. She was on her way to having it, too. But she got distracted. She forgot the means were only means, and that the greater glory awaited her."

"You only think that."

"You see, her cavorting with a few minor enemies got her noticed. Nobody really cared at first, but then people started thinking maybe she'd gone soft. Her motives were in doubt, and she'd also had the terrible taste to go and fall in love."

She slaps me hard across the face but I keep talking.

"She had a friend-- a lover, really-- someone for whom she meant everything in the world. He couldn't bear to see her fail. He warned her about her troubles before it was too late."

A change comes into her eyes. She regards me seriously. "And then what?"

"And then the woman went to her lover and told her that it was over. The other woman protested a great deal, but the woman kept telling her that it wasn't right, what they were doing, and it had to be over, it had to be over."

"Does the woman take over the world?"

"It's entirely possible."

She lets go of me. "Are you sure?"

"Nobody up top is going to let a carpet-licking bisexual slut get anywhere," I tell her firmly. "I'd suggest letting the other one go, too, just in case he gets too attached. He has a way of bringing down anyone who plays with him."

"Does the woman's lover mean it?" Johnny asks suddenly.

"Mean what?"

"That she's everything in the world to him?"

We're all weak creatures here on earth. We lie, we cheat, we kill, we destroy, just to fulfill a desire. I watch Johnny, her long, glossy hair, her peridot eyes, the question in her face.

It's more than possible that I'm in love with Johnny.

"Yes."

* * *

 

**Johnny:**

Mulder's apartment was dingy, I realized as I walked in. Before, I was always too concerned with my agenda to notice, but his place was a dump.

"Johnny?" Mulder asked, walking out of the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

"It's over," I said firmly. "I had fun, though-- except for the Alex thing."

He stared at me. I didn't know what he was thinking; he just looked and looked at me. Then he nodded slightly.

"What brought this one?" he asked.

"I'm in love. I don't need you any more."

"You're in love?"

"Don't give me any crap, Mulder," I snapped. "Are we still friends?"

"Of course," Mulder told me, and held out his hand. I took it gratefully. "I hope that you're very happy with him, Valmont."

"Thanks, Mulder," I replied. "You know, you're a good guy. You always were."

"Thanks, Johnny."

I left quickly, ignoring the grimy hallway, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. I didn't want to think about where I was going next, and what I had to do. It was hard enough as it was.

* * *

 

**Smoking Man:**

I spend tonight with no one, just myself, worse than no one. I'm old and lonely now, and the faith and causes of my youth seem completely foolish in the face of another night alone. I'm no one, a shadow figure ringed in smoke and lies. There is nothing left except for the little things of everyday men. The hope of the future, the desire for a legacy, for just a little remembrance.

I pick up the phone and dials. Politic, cautious, and meticulous. And I warned her. She chose not to listen. The voice on the other end of the line listens carefully to my orders. I am not Prince Hamlet, but it was never Hamlet who acted. Hamlet was always inactive, preparing for his definitive move. It's why he failed.

There is the boy to worry about. Jeffrey is a son hardly worthy of his inheritance but still a son. He must be protected, given a little push to get on his way. I think about my life and not for the first time. The smoke rises in the air, and I wonder about time. After all the sunsets and the nightmares, after all of the work I've done, I'm still alone, bathed in the light of a television screen, no one at all.

I make another phone call and amend the orders slightly. The voice is still the same, deferential, glad to be of use. And I hang up again and light another cigarette. I hear the eternal Footman snickering, and I'm not afraid.

* * *

 

**Scully:**

I need to tell her something, but it can wait. I'm glad to see her now. Johnny is so beautiful as she takes me in her arms and embraces me fiercely.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Johnny whispers to me.

"I think I do."

"I want to make love to you. Right here, right now."

I agree. My eyelids flutter as Johnny kisses me deep, holds me close. I love the taste of Johnny's lips, strawberries and salt, warm and sweet.

"I love you," Johnny whispers again, pulling me towards the bedroom. I feel a twinge of guilt. I suppress it as my lover's long, graceful hands lay me over the bed, undressing me as though I were something infinitely precious, worshipping me.

"I love you too," I promise as I reach for her face. Johnny's hands are deft, skillful, and today her fingernails are blood red, dragon lady nails, and they stand out against my skin. I watch Johnny's body against mine, the contrast of skin against skin, the slight changes in texture, feeling the soft tickle of Johnny's long hair against my breasts.

We make love slowly, ardently. My entire body aches as she whispers I love you over and over. The world seems to melt away, and reality seems to be a dream. There's only now, the permanent addiction I'm developing. Finally, finally, it's too much, and everything is erased except for the shattering orgasm and the feel of Johnny's body against mine, and Johnny's voice whispering again that she loves me.

For a while, we lay there, quiet. Then Johnny stands up and starts dressing mechanically.

"Don't go," I protest. "I don't want you to go."

"I have to go. In fact, I need to tell you something."

"You look so serious, like we're never going to see each other again," I say nervously. She can't know-- can she?

"But, darling," Johnny says in a voice that's turned to satin. "That's just it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm leaving you, Dana. It's quite beyond my control."

"But you said you loved me just now."

"They're just words."

I stand up and grab Johnny by the shoulders. "Why are you doing this?"

"There's someone else," Johnny replies. "Always has been. A man. I've loved him for quite a long time. And he loves me completely, Scully. It's more than you can say. Anyhow, it's beyond my control."

"Stop saying that!" I snap. "If you-- you can't. I love you. I love you."

"God, the sex really was good for you, wasn't it?" Johnny asks, laughing. "What about Mulder?"

"It's different. You and I are different--"

Johnny stares at me. "You love him, don't you?"

"I do, but I love you. I really do."

"Sweetheart, you're deluding yourself. You're so lonely that you've clutched on to the first halfway decent relationship you could. Now, I'm going."

"You can't just leave me," I say, still holding on to Johnny's sleeve. "I love you. This isn't right."

"I'm sorry. You've been great. Better than I expected. But I'm leaving," Johnny says firmly, pulling me off of her and sitting me on the bed like a naughty child. "I'm not enjoying this codependent, hysterical behavior, either, Dana."

"Do you care about me at all? Did you?"

Johnny forces a grin, a jack-o-lantern leer. "Sure. Once. But now it's over, and it's quite beyond my control."

I stare at her, frozen, as she walks away and closes the door.

* * *

 

 

**Alex:**

All the lights are on. Johnny hasn't been home all day, and I'm getting worried. She may dismiss the Smoking Man and his threats, but I can't. I know better. What if something happens to her? I can't lose her now.

"I'm home," she says flatly, opening the door. I look at her red-rimmed eyes and slumped posture. Something's up.

"Hey, Johnny."

"How does the story end?"

"What story?"

"The one about the woman who takes over the world. Once she breaks up with her lover, then what happens?"

I stare at her. "You mean--?"

"I told Scully it was over. So how does the story end, motherfucker?"

I grin with delight. This is fantastic news. "You just broke up with her? Today?"

"Just now. Why are you smiling?"

"You broke up with her because you were so sure someone cared--"

Johnny's green eyes go flat. "They did care, didn't they?"

"Why would they care? You're a woman. In their minds, you're all the same."

"So who did care?"

"I cared. And besides, it's so amusing-- you're so hungry for power you'd break your own heart. I had you big time, baby," I drawl. "You loved Scully, Johnny. Fuck, you still do, you're crying over her. But you wouldn't let it get in your way. It's very admirable. Show you got what it--"

Johnny stalks up to me and aims her gun at my forehead. "Do you love me?"

"What?"

"Don't fuck with me. Do you love me?"

"I love you. Hell, I was so jealous of you and Scully--"

She hits me across the jaw with the gun, then grabs me by the collar and holds the gun against my head. Her voice growls against my ear.

"Be very, very glad you love me, Alex, because you'd be dead now if you didn't. Now you listen to me very carefully, asshole. You made me break up with Scully because you were jealous. You lied to me. Now I have to win her back. It's going to take me a very long time and it will not be fun. But after I do, and I will, you're going to be her slave. If she says jump, motherfucker, you will say how high, ma'am. Do you understand that I own you? The video's in my hands tonight. From now on, you will do as I say, or you'll die. Do you hear me?"

My head and jaw ache. "I hear you."

She kisses me hard and lets me go. "I can't-- I-- I'm going. I'll bring you the video. But you understand what's gone down between us."

She leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her. I rub my jaw.

"Fucking bitch," I whisper, standing up and stalking around the apartment. "I'll show you slave."

* * *

 

**Smoking Man:**

I light another cigarette and watch John Wayne swagger on the glowing screen. Everything is in place-- I'll hardly need to make a move, and it will all fall into his lap. I'm glad.

The Duke drawls on screen, and I remember other times, long ago, on a beach. A beautiful dark-haired woman waves to me, running into the ocean. She wants me to swim out with her. I do, in my memories, lingering on the cold water, the drape of seaweed across her shoulders, how she looked against the sand when I made love to her.

Those were days when the mermaids sang, when the ideologies and methods of my world seemed to matter so much more, and life had a flavor to it. And now? The old figure, wreathed in smoke. At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-- almost at times, the Fool.

The phone rings and I answer. On the other end of the line is good news. Everything's in place. I just have to watch and wait.

* * *

 

 

**Johnny:**

The anonymous man was waiting for me on the Mall. I strode up to him, eyes flat.

"Do you have the tape?" I asked. He nodded, and handed it to me. We walked away in opposite directions.

I held the tape in my hands. I had a decision to make. I thought about just throwing it into the Potomac, or running it over with the car. I thought that maybe it's not worth it. But after a long, long time, I put it inside my coat.

For I had plans, and ambitions. And it was time.

* * *

 

**Alex:**

The video sits on my desk, taunting me. "Just for you darling," Johnny's voice taunts. "Gotta go. I've got better things to do than you tonight."

Good. Fine. I did pull that "well, if you don't sleep with her, you're still my slave" AND the "break up with her or lose" shit, but I never thought Johnny would moonlight as a lesbian for longer than necessary. Or ditch me for Scully. I glare at the container. Two pretty women having torrid sex-- this is a Christmas present for most men. Me, I just want it gone, this whole stupid game over, and Johnny back. So what if she wins and I have to do what she says for now?

I sullenly pop in the tape. It's exactly what I expect. Johnny instigates everything from the first kiss on. But this is obviously not the first time. Scully kisses back. It's almost shocking how into it Scully's gotten. But Johnny is certainly good in bed. Take a catalogue of her lovers-- me, the (usually) gay man; Mulder, Mr. One-Woman Romeo; and Scully, the (usually) straight woman. I can't deny Johnny's got technique.

"I love you so much," Johnny murmurs gently, getting Scully's top off. "I mean it. I wish I were a man, so you'd be more comfortable with this."

The little liar! She's told me more than one she'd rather have her eyes gnawed out by rats than ever be a man. But I'm tired of listening to preliminaries and foreplay. I fast-forward, and hit play once in a while. Johnny still has her breathing fetish, and Scully is a noisemaker. And a vulgar one. Stop. Rewind. I'm going to strangle Scully and maybe Johnny. But Johnny would probably enjoy it.

I have to reverse the situation. I can't endure any more of me, Johnny, Mulder, and Scully. I won't allow myself to be treated like I was treated tonight. And the video-- the seeds of destruction-- is in my hands. I call up a buddy of mine, Michael Dartez. Okay, so he's actually an ex-lover, but we're good friends anyway.

"Hey, man," he answers with his sexy Jamaican accent. "Who is it?"

"It's Alex, bro. I need some help."

"Alex! Congratulations! I heard you bagged the big one. And what's this about a lady friend? You haven't turned on us, have you, mon?"

"Hell, no. Hey, Mikey, question. Is there video?"

"Video of what?"

"You know what. Me, Johnny, and Mulder. I got Johnny's other little adventure sitting in my VCR."

"Man, it's hot tape."

"Get me a copy. I need it."

"What you gonna do with it?"

"Just do it, Mikey."

"Okay. You sound fucked-up, man. You ever need a little cure, you call your friends, okay?"

"If I get the tape, that'll be plenty, Big Mikey."

"All right, Alex. See you later."

I've got to do this. As I watch the tape over again, it becomes necessary. Johnny has declared war by slugging me with that gun. I never would have done this if she hadn't fucked up the bet. I mean, I could handle working for Johnny, but this--

I start making phone calls. Despite Johnny's renewed ardor to get Scully back, she's still all about power, and she'll wait for love if she can get ahead elsewhere. I arrange a meeting at 10:45 for her and a new friend, who's been impressed by her work.

Then I call another friend to have him call Spender and send him over there with the knowledge Johnny is waiting. Hah. And they think I don't know what I'm doing.

The other tape arrives at my apartment. I don't bother to watch it, I lived it, and the replay isn't going to do much for me. This is all about taking Johnny down. I hit stop on the other tape with disgust and hit rewind. I have a belated Christmas gift for my dear Mr. Mulder.

It's just like I dreamed it would be. Mulder is alone in his apartment. He's wearing those glasses of his, poring over some case file Johnny sent him right before their break-up. It's still incomprehensible to me how the woman persuaded him into my bedroom. It doesn't matter.

"Krycek--" he hisses when he sees me. "I told you to fuck off and I meant it."

"I have a Christmas present for you, Fox. A nice videotape. I hear ever since you've gotten a taste of live girl, you've lost your taste in 'em. That's a pity."

"What's on the tape?" he asks suspiciously.

"Your wildest fantasy and your worst nightmare."

I pop in the tape and press play, and then I go and hover at the door. This could set Mulder off in ways that could be fatal for me. He watches, transfixed, as events unfold. Each whimper, moan, caress, and declaration causes him to shudder. He doesn't make a sound, though, as Johnny leads his precious partner down the road to hell. He doesn't blink until the tape stops. Then he just stares at the blue screen.

"You're coming with me," he says, breaking the tension. "Don't say a word. Just do what I say."

He stands up and throws the remote at the television. The remote shatters. Then he heads for the door, and I do what he says.

We drive to Scully's, of course, and I've arranged for the tape to be waiting. I've anticipated every thing, down to Mulder's insane rage. It's still stunning to watch him throw open the door and stalk in like gangbusters. Scully is sitting on her couch, staring at the blue tv screen, her lips pressed together. Apparently, the tape reached her in time, too. She is not, however, in the same state Mulder is.

"We talk," Mulder says flatly.

"You fucked Krycek," she replies. "You had an affair with Johnny Valmont and you fucked Krycek."

He goes silent, and I scan the room for Johnny. She said she was coming back today, maybe she's here.

"She's not here," Scully said. "She left me. Apparently for you."

"What did she say?"

"It's beyond her control," Scully replies. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Tremendously. Aren't you? It looked like it on the tape."

"Tape?" she whispers. "What are you talking about? What tape?"

"Didn't you know Johnny was an amateur videographer? Hot tape. I never would have guessed you for a screamer. Remember? Oh please Johnny, fuck me harder-- yes! Or didn't you know?"

The color drains from her cheeks. She buries her head in her hands, and I think she's going to hyperventilate. Mulder stalks over to the couch, and pulls her head up. Then he stares her down, and for the first time I can recall, uses his size to dominate her.

"Why? I mean-- was it me?"

"No. Mulder," she said. "It had nothing to do with you. Not everything is about you."

"But you two were together?"

"Weren't you?" she replies coldly.

"Don't feel so bad," I sneer. "Little Johnny used you both." They both stare at me. "She set you both up. We had a bet, me and Johnny. I bet her she couldn't seduce Mulder into bed with me, and she bet me she could seduce Scully. I was a double loser. So were you."

"And what exactly did she win?" Scully asks.

"A lot of satisfaction. And my aid in making a play in the Consortium."

"Oh dear God," Mulder mutters. "The bitch is one of Them?"

"Oh yes," I say. "So don't feel bad. Johnny fucks people over for a living, and you were in her path. Now you've learned a lesson, and maybe you'll be a little smarter."

The room reeks with silence. It trembles with fury. Scully breaks first.

"Good. Is that all?" she asks.

"Yeah, I think," I sneer.

"Okay. Get out."

"Why?" I ask.

"Either get out or I'll empty my gun into your chest. Mulder, you too. I think we need a little time to think. Separately."

"Are you all right?" Mulder asks.

"No. Please, Mulder, I need you to leave."

"All right. Just remember--" and he stops. Their eyes meet.

"Go home, Mulder."

"I'm sorry." He kisses her on the forehead. "Time sounds like a good idea."

"Go home, Mulder."

We leave, finally, and we're barely out of Scully's building when Mulder clocks me. As usual, I don't resist-- much. He throws me into an alley, sobbing and furious.

"I'll shoot you and Johnny on sight if I ever lay eyes on either one of you again," he hisses, and moves away, walking out of my life for good. I turn the snow red for a moment, then stand up again and wipe my nose. Hell hath no fury like a gayboy scorned. Or a bi-boy. I have to admit, even though I still like men better, I think I love Johnny best. If she learns her lesson about not fucking with Big Daddy Alex, we may get our relationship to work out in the end. I head home whistling. My work for tonight is done.

* * *

 

 

**Spender:**

The word comes from an anonymous source: Johnny Valmont is gunning for you. I can't believe it at first. My current state of affairs is certainly the result of someone's meddling, but Johnny Valmont? A secretary in love with Alex Krycek? Yeah, sure, whatever.

The rumors don't stop coming. There's a grain of something behind them, after all. Johnny did, after all, replace me at the FBI. She's dealing with Mulder and Scully in a wholly unacceptable way. She's having that affair with the notorious Krycek. Anyone with eyes, the people say, can tell that Johnny's ambitious. I accept that. So she is. So the hell what? She's the granddaughter of that old British guy, and she wants his old place up top. In my worldview, it's Beavis--Harry Lancaster, the old man's right-hand boy--, who should be watching Johnny, not me. I'm nobody, after all.

But next come the anonymous notes directly to me. WATCH YOURSELF or JOHNNY WILL. TRUST NO WOMAN. And then there are the lengthier ones, begging me to be careful or I'd find myself dead. I force myself to ignore it. I know nobody around here likes me at all, except my father. If it weren't for him, there are probably a lot of people who'd help me out a third-story window. I figure this is just someone who wants me paranoid and ready to wet my pants at the smallest noise. So I don't take it seriously.

I do start keeping an eye on Johnny, though. There's always the slim to none chance that she is after me, and a little ass-coverage never hurt anyone.

It's the email that finally convinces me. Someone sends it anonymously, "a friend" of mine. I've learned that this place has some utterly ruthless people working around, and they will listen for anything if it suits them. What I get as a result of that is a rather garbled audio segment of Johnny Valmont and apparently a lover (the lover's voice is unfamiliar and impossible to make out) plotting against me. Smoking Man's spawn? Oh, that's just a wonderful image. And I want to know who on earth thinks I have a nice mouth. Johnny's going down, as soon as I can manage it. Apparently, someone wants to help me along, because soon I get a phone call.

"You're looking for Johnny, right?"

"Who is this?"

"Your friend."

"Don't be surprised if I remain a little skeptical. I don't have friends around here," I tell the caller. There's a chuckle.

"You're smarter than you look. Johnny's got plans to meet an associate tonight," the voice replies. "At least she thinks it's an associate."

"Why are you telling me?" I ask.

"Listen carefully, Spender," the voice on the other end of the line says coldly. "You want Johnny Valmont out of the way, and I'm giving her to you on a silver platter. She'll be at 10149 Highway 58 Service Road at precisely 10:45 PM. It's a warehouse, big, dark, empty, full of shadows. She'll be alone, and you will be prepared to make a play. Do you understand what I mean, Spender?"

"Perfectly," I reply. "Thank you so much for the information."

On the car ride to the warehouse, I think about what I can do, what could be going on. There are a lot of options, but just two major situations-- one, the informant told me the truth or two, the informant lied. I think he told me the truth. If not, I'm going to be hash all over the warehouse, but I haven't got anything left to lose. My father's even making noises about maybe me leaving the organization. I have to believe this is my chance to take Johnny out of action.

I get to the warehouse and sneak in an open side door. Carefully. Very carefully. The open door suggests a set-up. I move quietly and I look around and I turn on the lights and-- nothing. It's a warehouse. There are boxes and heavy machinery and all the normal signs of industry. It seems exactly how it is. So my informant told me the truth. I take a deep sigh of relief and set about to prepare for Johnny's arrival. She stalks in at 10:45, and there's something wrong about the usual flawless facade. She's walking funny, and her face looks sort of swollen. Still, she's cautious as she looks around the warehouse and calls out:

"Hello? Anyone out there?"

Yeah. I'm waiting just for you, Ms. Valmont. But I don't make a sound. My gun is already waiting ready at my side. I just have to pull the trigger and all my problems will be solved. She walks around the warehouse, getting antsy. "I'm not playing games here!" she shouts. "I've got a full schedule!"

The place is too fucking dark. I can't see her. I can't get a clean shot for her. I don't want to kill her. That would be bad politics and something in me cringes at killing a woman, even a woman who wants to kill me. I have to get her into a better view-- but how to do it?

I see the crates, and I realize I've got a good way to do it. She'll have to jump and get out of the way and then I'll be able to get her. Come on, Johnny-- I'm waiting for you. You wanted to play so much, let's play. So I push the crates over. That should do it, scare her out into plain view. And then, bam! Right through the leg. Nothing permanent. Just a lesson to the woman: don't fuck around in a man's world.

And I wait. What the hell is going on here?

* * *

 

 

**Johnny:**

The world exploded into a collection of sparks. The wind was knocked out of me, and I felt like the air around me was laced with darts. I looked around for some reason why I was suddenly so sick. I realized, slowly and stupidly, I was caught against the metal beam by three or four wooden crates. No wonder I was breathless and woozy. Being crushed to death will do that to a woman.

Someone had done this to me. I wanted to see who. I needed to finish some business. I felt so light-headed and bizarre, giving myself up for dead, but I've always been honest with myself.

"Hey!" I screamed into the silent night air. "You fucking coward! Come on out here!"

I listened for anything except the shrill echo of my own voice. Nothing.

"I'm dying, asshole! Please-- I can't hurt you right now. Just please come here, please!" I pleaded with the void. I could suddenly feel the blood leaking out of inopportune places. I felt so dizzy and so nauseous and I just wanted to go to sleep. But in that sleep, what dreams might come?

"Where are you?" I heard someone call finally. I recognized the voice. It was Jeffrey Spender. If it weren't so painful, I would have laughed. Johnny Valmont, queen of the badasses, wasted by that wet-eared weasel! Talk about a major blow to your pride!

"Behind the crates. Against the beam," I whimpered. "Hurry!"

My toes were numb, I realized. Oh my God, my God, I was dying, really dying, and I'd die alone--

He skittered over to my makeshift deathbed and shone his huge motherfucking flashlight right into my eyes. Spender never was particularly bright. His talent lay in the fact he was bitter, vengeful, and encouraged. He'd never achieve anything shining-- not even the bright and shining evil I'd managed in my twenty-seven very short years of life.

"Get that fucking light out of my eyes, idiot," I snarled. "When you toss three or four crates on a woman like this, she dies, okay?"

"I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I didn't-- I only meant to scare you. Then I was gonna shoot you."

"Well, this did the trick," I answered.

"No no no. Not shoot to kill. Just to get you out of the way. Like Krycek. I found out you set me up with the X-Files fiasco, that you've been plotting against me. I had to do something. God, I'm so sorry--"

It all became crystal clear, as I began to choke and sputter. When I spit, the nasty, metallic acid of internal fluids burned my throat and tongue. Alex had done this. Alex had arranged this.

"Well, my dear Spender, it's Alex Krycek's work you've just done," I said bitterly. "He did this. He knew you'd fuck up and kill me. Now he doesn't have to share power with me, and you-- you've killed the wrong person. In this affair-- this entire affair-- we've both been his creatures."

My head swam, and I realized very soon, I'd drown. I had to take care of the business.

"Krycek did this?"

"He did," I said. "Now shut up and listen to me. I did not have time to get dead just now. It's vitally important you listen. You have to go talk to Scully. You have to tell her I was wrong, that I'm sorry, that what I did, I did for love. I loved Alex so much, but tell her that I loved her."

"You and Agent Scully? That's true?"

"Shut up. I don't have--" and I choked up more blood and bile-- "time to argue. On my computer-- there's more information. The entire affair is documented. Your father will kill Alex Krycek when he discovers what he's done. But tell her I'm sorry, tell her I didn't mean it, and that I was happy with her."

"Why are you helping me, all of a sudden?" Spender asked suspiciously.

"I'm not helping you, per se. I'm making it up to Mulder and--" I pause-- "Dana. And I loved Krycek so much. And I love Scully. I can't leave everything so untidy-- I hate--"

I couldn't speak for a while after that, and my voice sounded impossibly soft when I began again.

"I hate leaving like this," I whispered. "Get revenge for me. Do what you want with the information. Listen to your father in this matter. But do what I say. Please?"

"Yes," he replied. "I promise. I swear I'll do it."

"And make sure that someone knows I want Johnny Valmont on the tombstone."

I was very, very tired. I thought I'd said everything important, and it was getting too hard to keep talking. It was a waste of breath, and I didn't have any left to waste. My eyelids fluttered, and I closed my eyes. I wondered if English Jake and my grandmother and Elvis would be waiting. I wondered if I'd realize I was dead when it happened.

It was getting too hard to think, too hard to breathe, too hard to hear. I relaxed my body, ignoring the pain that was overwhelming every part of me that wasn't numb, and then I fell asleep.

* * *

 

 

**Alex:**

The phone call comes at precisely 1:13 AM eastern standard time, while I'm stripped to the waist and waiting for Johnny to come home--

"Mr. Alexander Krycek?" the voice on the phone says.

"That's me."

"We need you to come down to identify a body."

No. Oh sweet Jesus no. That little weasel Spender couldn't have fucked up that badly. Johnny was so much smarter than he was. She'd never let him drop her, Johnny was my girl who was my boy and I take a deep breath--

"Is it a woman's body?"

"Yessir."

"Where?"

He tells me where and I hang up the phone and start screaming at the top of my lungs. That stupid little weasel! That stupid pissant little weasel! She wasn't supposed to die, Johnny, you gotta believe me--

I get into the car, our car, Johnny's grandfather's sweet-ass Jaguar roadster he poured a hundred grand into one summer, and tear down the Washington roads. The stereo's turned up to eleven, Johnny's favorite singer screaming on the radio. Johnny loved stupid chick music, and Ani DiFranco is screaming at me, I am not a pretty girl-- that is not what I do I ain't no damsel. in. distress. And I don't need to be rescued, so put me down punk--

My mind isn't working right. I needed Johnny out of the way, didn't I, Alex, sweet Johnny who wanted the world and Glenn Close's red dress from that French movie, the stupid one with Keanu Reeves-- my girl who told Mulder he had to put up and shut up, Johnny who gave me everything-- she was too dangerous. Johnny would have done it to me if I didn't do it to her.

I don't see anything on the road around me. I have to get to the morgue. I have to see that the body on the slab is actually Spender's, and that it's true, Johnny was the man and Spender the woman. Johnny will be laughing at me when I arrive, fucking out of my mind and it's Jeffy the Spud-Boy who's dead. Yeah, Johnny and me are gonna laugh and then go get subs.

I start breathing again, and switch the Ani DiFranco shit to a better station, where the Velvet Underground is howling Here she comes you better watch your step She's going to play you for a fool it's true-- It's not hard to realize Just look into her false colored eyes She'll build you up to just put you down--

I make the tires squeal, and I shouldn't have because English Jake probably paid five thousand bucks for each of the tires but I have to get to Johnny, I have to beat hell out of her for scaring me so bad and then we'll get subs, and then we'll figure out our way to the top and I'll apologize for trying to get Spender to kill her, baby I'm sorry I was just fucked up--

We'll get Mulder and Scully back, too, we'll make that all work out. If Johnny loves Scully and I love Mulder and Johnny loves me and I love Johnny and Mulder loves Scully it can all work out. As soon as I get there, it'll all be right, it'll all be right, Johnny I promise, I love you so much, it doesn't matter if you're a chick or not--

This is the place, the morgue, and Johnny's waiting, and she's probably laughing at me, I know she's laughing at me, and I slam the door shut on the roadster and sprint into the building, pushing people out of my way because I've gotta get to Johnny, you know, I just gotta get to Johnny--

"HEY!" someone screams. I stop. I wheel. It's fucking Jeffrey Spender.

"Where's Johnny? Where the fuck is Johnny, you dumb-shit bastard?" I scream, throwing him against the wall. "What did you do to her?"

"It's what you did to her, Mr. Krycek. She's in there," he says. "Let go of me."

"I'm going to kill you, Spender. Me and Johnny. She always hated your ass. We're going to roast your dick and serve it with s'mores."

"Whatever," Spender replies and I open the door, I burst into the morgue like the Untouchables and she's lying on the table and her eyes are closed. I run over to her, my Johnny, who was just like me, and she loved me and I try to reach her, touch her face and wake her up but I realize my knees have given out and I'm on the floor and Spender is sneering at me.

Johnny, you gotta believe me--

* * *

 

**Spender:**

Dana Scully won't let anyone into her apartment. She hasn't for three days. Not Mulder, not Skinner, not her mother, and certainly not me. The video with Johnny Valmont is everywhere. Not publicly, but everyone knows what she did after hours. Not that anyone believes she's an out- and-out lesbian. Not even Mulder bought that, and he was so upset about the video it was pitiable.

But I don't think it's the video that upset her so much. After all, it's not really anyone's business who she's with. I think she's so angry at herself that she can't face it. She got used. She trusted Valmont, a woman who betrayed her in every move. She almost fell in love with a woman who was two-timing her with Mulder and Krycek. It blew her mind.

I still need to give her the video. So I return to her apartment for the fifth time, and I've got the key to the door. I stole it from Mulder, who is too ethical to use it against her wishes.

"Mulder, get the hell out," she says when the door opens and shuts.

"I'm not Mulder."

"Spender? What the fuck do you want?"

"I have something for you," I say, pulling out the videotape my father gave me.

"What? Oh, God, not another video. I don't want to see it."

"It's about Johanna Valmont," I reply. "I was asked to give it to you. She asked me to tell you something, but I think she can tell you herself."

"Speaking of Johnny," Scully says, looking up at me fiercely. "How is it you're still walking around? You killed her, after all."

"Krycek killed her. He just used me to do it," I reply. "The police are investigating."

"Where is Krycek?"

"He took off. He expects to be protected," I say, pressing play on the video. Scully stares at the scene. It doesn't make me look good at all. She doesn't cry, but I didn't expect her to. Her face is emotionless, empty. Finally, the tape finishes and she closes her eyes.

"It's been three days, hasn't it, Agent Spender?" she asks very very quietly. Her eyes are still closed.

"Yes it has."

"I've behaved like an idiot," she murmurs. "Is Mulder all right?"

Of course she'd ask about Mulder. "He's still shaken up about the video, but he's okay."

"That's good," she says. "Get out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm leaving and you're not staying in my apartment. Give me the key and get out," she says very distinctly. Her eyes open. "Now."

I doltishly hand her the key, and walk out of the apartment. She follows me, locking the door behind her. She stalks down the hallway and out of her building, leaving me alone.

My father's sworn that Alex Krycek won't survive the week. The information I got from Johnny Valmont's computer is enough to get me anywhere I want to go. Secretaries really do know everything. Mulder and Scully are on the verge of regaining the X-Files, but who cares? It's going to take them a long time to get over this latest catastrophe. Besides, one small division in one small federal bureau is nothing compared to what I can have and what I can be.

Scully's car is gone when I finally leave the apartment building. I shrug and get in the car, realizing that despite all the unpleasantness, these haven't been a bad few months for Jeffrey Spender after all. Not at all. It's a pity about Johnny, though. She could have been very useful.

 


End file.
